


The Games We Play

by creepymura



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Priests, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anal Sex, Angst, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Begging, Blood, Body Modification, Bondage, Boot Worship, Breathplay, Bukkake, Bunny Boy, Collars, Creampie, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Dialogue Heavy, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Edgeplay, Emotional Baggage, Exhibitionism, Existentialism, F/M, Femdom, Filming, Fingerfucking, Gags, Gangbang, Glory Hole, Gore, Human Furniture, Humiliation, Kidnapping, Knives, Latex, Leather, M/M, Master/Slave, Medical Kink, Monsters, Omorashi, Oral Sex, Organ Fucking, Petplay, Piercings, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Priest Kink, Public Sex, Relapsing, Roleplay, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Shibari, Shotgunning, Shower Sex, Spanking, Stepping, Stranger Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Violence, Vomiting, Wax Play, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 123,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8214187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepymura/pseuds/creepymura
Summary: [Finished. Last Update: Author's Choice]A collection of one-shots and two-shots based around Kinktober prompts.





	1. Ache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 1: spanking  
> written in second person, from 2D's perspective. implied abuse, referenced parental abuse, slight age regression (not age play)

Over his knee, your briefs round your knees, pinned down, but it's not like you'd move anyway.

Without any explanation or any kind of context, he quickly brings a hand down on your backside. It's sharp and fast and hurts like hell, leaves your skin stinging. You gasp, crying out in surprise, almost at a loss for words. 

He tells you to start counting, you ask him why and your words feel small and frightened, makes you cringe at how powerless you feel. He doesn't say why. He wasn’t fond of explanations for these sort of things. Would rather you make up your own mind about it.

He does it again when you don't expect it, when your guard is dropped, and it hurts as much as the first time. You cry out again, louder, your breath hitched and quick, you feel like you're hyperventilating. Or like you're close to it anyway. 

He says, again, and much more sternly and forced, to start counting. He grips your shoulder a little harder, nails digging in, and you eventually force out your words.

"One." 

You're suddenly eight years old again, over your Mum's knee with your shorts pulled down, getting slapped for tracking mud onto her nice white carpet that she just got shampooed, or getting a bad result in a test, or making her pick you up from school because you missed the bus again. 

You wailed and cried much louder, and for a much longer time in those days, and that would usually upset her even more, and she'd yell at you, almost in tears herself. 

Because you deserved it.

You made her, you forced her hand.

Because you were naughty.

Tears are threatening to spill out already, but you're trying to hang onto some sense of pride.

He slaps you again, hitting the throbbing mark on your skin, already burning with hurt and intensity. 

You try to speak, but it just comes out shaky between your gasps, and you can barely understand yourself. 

"Two."

Slap.

"What did I do? Did I do something wrong?" Because there was always something you had done wrong.

"Keep counting." he warns. No other words but that. 

"Three."

Slap.

You clench your eyes shut, to stop the tears come through. You try to grip at something, anything that will distract you from the burning pain. But you aren't granted that privilege. You never are. You're left, useless and hunched in his lap. 

Like a child. 

"Four." 

Slap. 

"I'm sorry." You don't know what you're apologizing for at this point, but anything that will stop the pain is worth saying. 

He doesn't think to warn you again.

"Five."

Slap.

As he keeps going, your loud cries ween into hiccupy little sobs and shudders, tremors going through your body, making you shake and tremble. 

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s hit you.

The pain is almost unbearable, you want it to stop now. You can feel the red, burning sting and it makes you feel weak, and so much more vulnerable than you usually feel. You don't know how many numbers there will be before he'll stop, but if you keep going, so does he. 

"Please stop."

Slap. 

"I can't take it."

Slap.

"Murdoc, please. It hurts."

Nothing. 

You almost want look back, but his grip on your shoulder is unrelenting, so you keep your eyes down, keeping quiet, though you can't help the trembles that wreck your body. 

"I'll be good." You say finally, and even you flinch at how young you suddenly sound. Not like you were doing it on purpose though.

He shoves you off his knee, and you fall to the floor pretty ungracefully. He doesn't look at you, like he can't bear to make eye contact with you, stands up, mumbles gruffly for you to "sort yourself out." 

Leaves you to it.

Like he usually did.

Your backside is still aching with the dull pain, and now you're alone and deeply confused. And it definitely didn’t help that your dick was already aching from the attention, despite how negative it was.

You did tend to confuse positive attention from negative attention though.

Especially when it came to him.

The only thing you can think to do is pull your jeans back up and pretend it never happened.

Like you usually did when you played these games.

You wonder if he did the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the 5th october and i'm writing five fics in one day cus i hate myself. this will mostly be a series of 2D/Murdoc fics but i might do some solo stuff, or some original faceless character work (or maybe 2DPaula) also there's gonna be a mess of tags by the end of this thing so. there's that.
> 
> follow me at whipstickagocock.tumblr.com for more of my hijinks or excessive overwatch porn
> 
> have fun,  
> ray x


	2. On A Good Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 2: dirty talk  
> second person, from 2D's perspective

It had been a good day.

You had been in the recording studio for most of it admittedly, always a clause for a good day you believed, adding vocals to some of the music tracks the others had been busy on, supplying a bit of piano here and there when they let you. 

It seemed the album was coming together quickly and smoothly, everyone were already singing the praises about the songs you were creating, and the single you dropped seemed to be doing alright with just word of mouth at this point.

And you couldn't help but feel a bit proud of yourself as the face of it all. Even though you weren't doing that much of the work.

You and the rest of the band had left the studio in good spirits, talking excitedly about what the future had in store for you. 

Russel made Noodle's favourite for tea which pleased her to no end, and though Murdoc complained about it (naturally), he had gotten over it quickly and you spent the night enjoying each other's company and chatting amongst yourselves. They even let you put one of your zombie films on! To be fair, you were limited on choice because it had to be appropriate for Noodle (there weren't many 12 rated horror movies it seemed) but it was enjoyable nonetheless. At least Noodle had liked it.

So because it had been such a good day, it wasn't really that surprising when Murdoc was knocking on your door at one in the morning.

It was hardly out of character for him to come to your room, asking for a low key fuck that no-one else had to know about. 

You didn't mind. 

But you had a little more hope for today. Maybe it would go better.

-

It was a similar position, your face pressed into the mattress on your hands and knees, him behind you, one hand in your hair, the other on your hip, pulling you back, slowly pushing inside of you. 

No protection tonight, hadn't thought to finger you open first either, but there was plenty of lube and enough time to catch your breath and prepare yourself for each push.

He was considerate like that sometimes.

He kissed up your neck, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear as he eased out and back in again slowly, running gentle lines down your side, making you shudder nicely against him, forcing out little moans and whines because it just felt that good.

"Love those little sounds." He said, and you can hear the humour in his voice. "Sound sweet even when I'm fuckin' ya, eh?" 

And you do.

You leaned up a little, grabbing a pillow to give yourself some better leverage, gripping it tightly in your fists as he pushed in and out of you, just to stop those tiny, painful sounds you squeaked out when you couldn't control yourself. You urged your hips back desperately though, so he would know you were eager for it, and you didn't want it to stop.Because it wasn't exactly unlike him to stop when you needed it most.

He was a tease like that.

Even when you went on knees on the floor and begged for it, did everything that you knew he liked, he made you wait for it. Like he was holding it in front of your nose, just barely out of your reach, and yanking it back every time you went for it. 

As he started pounding into you harder, you could almost feel your eyes roll back in your skull and drool leaked from your lips in thick strings, staining the bed sheets and pillow cases. It seemed he was adamant to make you cum without touching you, and if he kept up this frantic pace, you probably were going to. 

He was still babbling away above you, telling you how well you took his dick, how good you looked getting fucked, how much he wanted to see you get off for him. 

"Good boy, good boy, beautiful boy, angel. 

Keep going, you take my dick so good, don't you." 

Like he expected you to answer or something. 

Your dick throbbed uselessly against your belly, smearing pre-cum on your skin, desperate for any kind of stimulation that it wasn't going to get. But you allowed yourself to zone out to the sound of his voice.

“You look so pretty around my dick.

Tell me how much you love it.

You take it so well, baby.

You're the perfect cock slut. 

I wanna see you choke on it.

You'd look so pretty with my cum on your face, wouldn't you.”

You moaned louder, biting down on your lip to stop yourself crying out his name, desperately close to the edge, so close, you choked out. So fucking close.

You feel his triumphant grin against your neck and he sped up, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you in close to his level and up on your knees.

"Fuck, you're cumming without me even touching you." He said gruffly, though his pace is suddenly unsteady, like he was close himself. "You really are a perfect little cock slut, aren't you, Stu."

This wasn't a question and was instead more of a statement, but you nodded your head vigorously anyway because it felt right to agree. 

And you had to admit, you sort of liked this turn in dirty talk. 

Not like you didn't love the praise when you got it, no, you loved being called perfect and beautiful and feeling like you were the most wonderful thing in the world. 

But you really did love being called a slut and a whore, being told that everyone just wanted to fuck your pretty ass and your pretty face because that's what you did best, having your hair pulled and your ass slapped and your pale skin mottled with bruises and love bites where everyone could see them, so everyone would know how much of a dirty whore you were.  

Thinking about it made you tremble against him, and he let out a tired little chuckle that made your knees weak.

"You like being my slut, babe?" You nodded again, barely capable of making words at this point. "Want me to fill your ass up, huh? Stretch out that slutty hole of yours so everyone knows you're mine." He growled, licking up your neck and biting at your earlobe, digging his teeth in, making you cry out. "You're so fuckin' filthy, Stu. Such a filthy boy." 

You whined and whimpered, you were so fucking close, but God, you didn't want it to stop. You just wanted him to keep saying those things, to fuck you endlessly and mark you, to keep you for himself, so no-one would even think that they could have you, or even dare to look at you.

"I'm gonna cum..." You gasped out, suddenly finding your voice, gripping onto his wrist tight. "Fuck, Murdoc, I'm gonna..."

You didn't get the chance to finish, or give him any chance of a response before you came, hard. Your vision went white for maybe a few seconds, though when you came to again, a part of your head was just considering whether you should wash the sheets in the morning, or leave them as some kind of filthy reminder.

He finished inside you, barely five seconds after, and you feel too exhausted to care about anything else than sleeping next to him, despite the slightly unpleasant wetness leaking out of you.

You both collapsed on the bed, chests heaving and stinking of sex and sweat.

He pulled you in close, his arms around your waist, and one of his hands traced over your backside and down your thighs gently. You moaned happily, leaning against his touch.

"Wish I had a plug or somethin'." He whispered gently, leaving kisses against where he had nipped down your neck. "So everyone knows who this ass belongs too."

"You're so fucking gross." You said with a sleepy laugh.

"Yeah, but only cus you let me be." He started stroking up your back slowly, tracing gentle circles, to calm you down and sooth you so you slept better, just because he knew you that well. "Gonna give me a goodnight kiss then?"

You smiled privately, pressing your face into the pillows and clutching the duvet to your chest. "No. Too tired."

"So cruel!” He said, in mock outrage. “Am I gonna have to take it from ya then then?" He straddled your hips then, and though you were too worn out to fight him off, you're laughing and so's he, and it felt so natural and good and simple that you couldn't stop smiling. He looked at you, that same adoring look in his eyes like the first time you slept together, and kissed you, so softly and so gently, and the moment is perfect.

"Love you."

"Love you too." 

And that was all you needed to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my internet's been out for about three days and i'm publishing this from a public library. i have accepted my fate and i am not going to heaven  
> i'm probably going to finish chapter 3 (which will be 2DPaula cus i adore that pairing) today as well
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com
> 
> enjoy,  
> ray x


	3. Midnight Street Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 3: public sex  
> second person, from 2D's perspective. includes trans girl paula

You don't really know how, and you don't know why, but for some reason, you were in the park.

The park the two of you used to play in as young year sevens, when you pushed each other on swings and down the slide. You fell off the climbing frame one time and twisted your ankle, but you ran home on it anyway, showing off your injuries to your fretting parents with a big smile on your face because you liked the bruises.

The park where you had your first cigarette with your friends, skiving a science lesson in year nine, huddled behind a Wendy House while exhausted mums played with screaming toddlers. Martin had stolen half a pack from his older brother and you and your little group were sharing them between you, feeling like you were on top of the world and like you were never going to fall down from it.

The park where you vomited in the bushes for the first time after you finished your O Levels and Keith’s dad had treated all of you to a night out at his local pub, telling the bloke serving you all that you were all eighteen. You’d gotten over zealous on pints of Strongbow and shots of vodka and stumbled to a place you knew, where you could be left alone to puke and mope about the loss of high school innocence and knowing all your friends were going to different colleges and probably weren’t going to want to hang out with you as often as you used to anymore.

And now, what it seemed, the park where you were going to lose your virginity to your best friend.

She was dressed in red and black, a tartan pinafore and a low cut black button up, her cleavage in the faces of all the patrons at the bar. Her hair had been cut into a fashionable bob, though when you knew her, it was always long, in a scraggy ponytail with a scrunchie she’d stolen from her sister. Heavy eyes, heavy lips. She was almost unrecognisable.

She smiled bright when she saw you, her plucked and perfect eyebrows raised in surprise. Shouted your name across the room, always demanding your attention.

She hugged you over the bar counter, her boss didn’t seem to care when she slipped you a free drink and hopped over, sitting with you and shouting to her co-worker to cover her for a few minutes. They didn’t mind. It seemed she was pretty popular with everyone.

You unloaded all your baggage onto her, as you were prone of doing, knowing she wasn’t really listening or paying attention, but it was nice to just vent without any bullshit advice at the end of it. She nodded and smiled and when you were done, she gave you a hug, told you everything would sort itself out.

But in the meantime, to get smashed while you had an excuse.

She bought you another drink, you bought her one. She put your favourite song onto the radio and you danced together, like you had at the high school discos so long ago.

You stayed there until well after closing time together, drinking from the Fish Bowl. She laughed at you when you kept spitting it out, because she could take it all back without even flinching.

You asked her what she’d done since high school. She shrugged, said she’d just worked at the bar since she’d dropped out. Didn’t go into much detail about it, and you didn’t push anymore out of her.

When her boss told her to that she could clock off, she asked if you wanted to go for a walk, and you agreed.

She took you to all the old spots you used to frequent as kids, when you used to hang out in your shared group of friends. Each of them seemed to have their own memories attached to them, and you recounted them together, laughing together at all the stupid ones.

“Remember when Martin pulled for the first time under the bridge and he made us wait by the river and we started singing Ice Ice Baby to make the girl laugh.

Remember when Keith got caught smoking down that alley by Miss Allen.

Remember when Ian got nicked by the coppers ‘cus he broke the Asda bollard.

Remember when I got pissed before the year ten disco and you had to carry me home 'cus my heels were cutting into my feet.

Remember when Mum forgot to pick me up and you sat with me for three hours after school.”

Your laughter fell into a somewhat awkward silence as you looked at each other, illuminated by the neon street lamps.

She was a woman now.

Not to say she wasn't before, no, but back then she was just a girl.

Your friend, Paula, who pulled on your hair and nicked your fags and comforted you when you got shit grades and snuck out late at night when you called her when your parents were arguing.

And you were just a boy. Stuart. The one who gave up too easily and let others lead him, and did badly on tests. Who stuck up for her when the others called her names, who bought her the first skirt she owned with his own pocket money, who never saw her as anything other than a girl.

She asked you to close your eyes, and you did.

And she kissed you, under the glow of the midnight street lights.

And you kissed her back.

Which, of course, resulted in the previously mentioned loss of virginity in a children's park.

- 

She was on top of you, in your lap, straddling your hips, and she was kissing you hard.

Her red painted lips were probably leaving a mess on your skin and her nails were digging in when she pulled on your hair, but you were so hard for her, hard for everything she was doing, aching for more of it.

Your hands ran up her thighs, up the back of her skirt, and you were trying to make sure to keep it slow, so she can stop you if she wants, but she didn’t. Her tights had tears in them that you traced with your fingers, and you just wanted to tear them open, pull her pants down and eat her out until she was screaming your name and pulling your hair harder.

You groped her ass, palming it almost roughly, and she was moaning in your ear, her husky voice raising in pitch, and it made your dick ache even more. Your free hand goes up to undo her dress and unbutton her work shirt, you were practically ripping it open at this point, and dipping your head to suck on her tiny, perfect tits.

Her hands gripped at your hair, pulling, tugging, and she's making such sweet noises, you wanted to stay in that moment forever. But you kept going because she was begging for it and you could barely wait any longer.

You ripped through her tights, the fishnets breaking apart with ease, and hike up her skirt. Testing the waters, because you were unsure if this was okay or not, you slowly stroked over the front of her pants, black boyshorts, feeling the outline of her dick through the fabric.

She quickly froze against you, pulling you back from her chest to look you in the eye, carefully gauging your expression.

"Is this okay?" You asked, and though she seemed hesitant, she nodded her head slowly. "This isn't weird, for you, I mean?"

"It’s not weird at all.."

"At all?"

"I just wanna make you feel good.” You meant it as well.

She smiled, looking almost sincere, and nodded her head again, keening her hips against your touch.

You gripped her gently through her shorts, trying to get a proper feel for it, though she seemed to like what you were doing just fine. Wrapped her arms around your neck, gasping and sighing into your ear, encouraging you further.

You tugged them down and you could feel how hard she was for you. When your skin touched her, she gripped onto you tighter, almost trembling.

"Feels good..." She sighed slowly, and you gripped tighter, slowly working your hand up and down. "God, Stu, you feel really good..."

You stayed silent while you touched her, watching every expression she was making, relishing in the sounds she made when you sped up or slowed down.

You assumed you were of ill practice, at least in this department, but pleasing girls was one of your specialties, and it seemed that was true regardless of what parts they had. You even felt a little cocky about it.

She finished quickly, with a high whine, or at least you assumed she had. She didn't ejaculate like you did, something you had guessed was due to her transition, but she seemed pleased with the results, as she immediately pulled you into a hard kiss, her tongue practically down your throat and her arms circling your neck.

"Your turn." She whispered in your ear, that same husky tone making your dick ache, unbuttoning your jeans with practiced ease.

You wanted to stop her, tell her she didn't have to, she didn't owe you anything, but for some reason, you couldn't find a reason to stop her.

She had a condom in her purse, obviously prepared for whatever came after a shift. If she went to work looking like that every night, you wouldn't have been surprised if she turned a few heads, maybe got a few numbers from more daring patrons.

"Do this often?" You asked, and she smirked devilishly at you as she tore the foil wrapper open with her teeth, tugging her shorts off with her free hand.

"Wouldn't you like to know." She said, pulling the latex down your aching length. "Why, you jealous?"

Your thought best not to answer that.

She climbed into your lap and cradled your face gently in her hands. Making eye contact, she smiled.

"Done this before?" She asked, and you shook your head.

"Not like this." You answered, hoping she would understand what you mean. Seemed like she did though. You never had to explain anything to her.

"Just go slow, I know what I'm doing."

You just nodded.

She slowly eased herself onto your dick, taking in a sharp breath. You held her hips tenderly, your hands almost shaking, but she kept going, easing more of you inside of her.

It was different. Yet weirdly similar at the same time. Tighter, certainly, but the warmth was the same and it looked the same, for the most part.

The position didn't allow you to raise your hips and push deeper inside of her, no, it seemed the pacing and the force was all down to her. For some reason, that kind of made it hotter to you.

She kept going until you were entirely inside of her, the tight heat making your head swim, pulling her closer towards you. Her breathing is quicker and she slowly started to ride you.

"Ohh god..." Is the only thing you could manage to gasp out, digging your short nails into her shoulders. She let out a worn chuckle in response.

"You sure do know how to make a girl feel appreciated, Mr Pot." She said, her head lolling back, staring up at the sky. "Don't s’pose you could touch my clit again while I'm doin' this, could you?"

You were more than happy to oblige.

You jerked her off in time with her riding your dick, her whines and moans doing nothing but turning you on even more, making you go faster, just to watch how she looked as she got closer. How she bit her lip, how her eyes squeezed shut and her brow furrowed.

You were sure you were probably making worse faces, and she'd probably laugh about it with someone in the future, but you couldn't bring yourself to care all that much now.

Eventually and much too quickly, it became too much, her touches and that delicious, hot tightness became too much, too fast, and you were close to your peak.

"'M close..." You stuttered out, and she grinned, nodding her head enthusiastically.

"Me too, me too, babe." She sounded giggly and it made you smile even more. "Tell me how good I look, Stu."

"You look so fuckin' good, babe." You said, wrapping your arms around her waist and pressing your face into her shoulder, smelling her sweet scent. "Like an angel. Or a goddess or somethin'. Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

"Go on, cum inside me. Wanna feel it, Stu, wanna feel you."

When you came inside her, she immediately clenched tight around you, making you groan against her skin. She gave your hair a solid yank (which was more exciting than painful, to be fair) before she gasped loudly, and you assumed she had cum too.  

You both slowed down, your breathing speeds regulating, and you slowly pulled out of her, making her wince in pain. You peeled the condom off carefully, knotting the latex and tossing it off into a bush, where a kid would probably find it in the morning and question their parents relentlessly about why it was there. The thought of it made you smile.

You both lay back in the long grass, your arm around her shoulders pulling her in close to your chest. She was smoking your cigarettes and smiling to herself peacefully, but kept her eyes to the stars above.

"It seems we're all grown up now, doesn’t it?" She said, in an exhale of thick smoke.

"S’pose so, if growing up means fucking a kid's park." You answered and it made her giggle, filling the space and the dark night with a soft and familiar sound, setting you at ease.

"Oh Stuart Pot, you were always such a funny boy." She sighed happily and for some reason, you suddenly felt that maybe all this bullshit and hardship had been worth it, even if Mum was angry back home and you'd wake up the next morning without any certainty of the future.

But you thought regardless, with your childhood friend in your arms and the scent of tobacco in the art, that everything might turn out okay in the end.

She turned onto her front, resting her head on your chest, her hands supporting her chin, and her hooded eyes looking at you, barely lit by the ember of the cigarette dangling carelessly from her lips.

You can't remember a time she looked more intoxicating than that night, even though her makeup was a mess, her dress was halfway up her thighs and askew, but that same rough, captivating look on her face that reminded you of a home you hadn’t seen in a long time.

"What do we do now?" You asked, and to respond she just shrugged and smiled, carefree as ever.

"Back to my place for round two, perhaps?" You smiled back and kissed her, hard.

And she let you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO FICS IN ONE DAY SOMEONE TOUCH ME  
> i really love this one idk why i have such a fondness for paula cracker. she's an angel and did nothing wrong (she did some things wrong)
> 
> feel free to comment with suggestions btw! i have a list of prompts but i'd like to exchange some of them for different kinks so, request away! (i also do regular requests)  
> ray x


	4. Comfortable Constant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 4: bukkake and/or gangbang  
> second person, from 2D's perspective. gangbang with 2doc undertones.

Kong Studios was a big place, that's one thing you knew for certain.

When you had moved in there, you got lost on the first day trying to find the kitchen. Russel must have found you hours later, endlessly walking from one room the next, making no sense of the place despite your hours of wandering. 

You reckoned in your head, everything (or most things anyway) blurred together into a big mush, you couldn't tell one room from the next when there wasn't anything interesting in it. Like you couldn't tell one film from another if there wasn't zombies or ridiculous looking gore you could laugh at in it, or why you thought that charts music all sounded the same (and it did.)

So you mostly kept to your room when you could, sometimes venturing upstairs when Noodle had a new zombie film from Blockbuster that she wanted to watch or Russel wanted company during his taxidermy. 

And it's not like you minded having your own space either. You were an only child after all and Mum never let your friends come round so it was easy to just stick to your room, watching your silly zombie films or listening to your music. 

Your room was comfortable, constant. Everything had it's place and was where you liked it, even if it didn look like a shit tip most of the time. 

It was the one thing of yours that had been untouched despite everything that had happened to you.

It always felt the same.

-

Yet here you were, in the public bathroom, away from your comfortable constant, naked apart from your boxers. 

You were handcuffed to one of the urinals and when the metal chain scraped against the pipe, the sharp noise made you cringe and shudder. Felt sharp and dangerous and painful. 

Kneeling makes you hurt, makes your body ache, but it was a good, weird kind of hurt. The kind of hurt that you had begged for before. The kind of hurt that people are so fond of giving to you.

A spreader bar at the knees kept your legs apart, spreading you open ready for anyone who might find you, and just that fact alone made your dick ache. No chance of being able to hide that either. 

You were alone though, which made today's situation different from what you usually did together. Different from the other games you played.

Murdoc has left you there, naturally, after he dragged you out of your room by your wrist and without explaining himself before hand, while he had a meeting with some potential record companies and collaborators, as well as some of your managers and agents. 

Didn't want you there, he said as you undressed, didn't need you there. You either talked too much about bullshit that didn’t matter or said nothing at all and that didn't look good for publicity, he said. Best to leave this to the experts, he said, while he locked the handcuffs, with that ever present sardonic smirk.

And then he left, without even a goodbye kiss. 

Left you, alone and unstimulated, waiting for him to let you go, give you some kind of relief, anything he wanted really. 

That was the point of today's game.

At least that’s what you thought it was.

The fact that this was almost felt normal for the two of you, like it was just something normal you did together, said a lot about you. The fact that he didn't even need to make you, you did all of it without any kind of resistance or argument said even more.

Your dick was aching so bad now, it almost hurt, and you were shaking from the cold of the car park bathroom tiles. You tugged at the cuffs, the metal easily cutting into your wrists, leaving harsh red marks on your skin. Pretty red lines that he would stroke when you were done, and you didn’t want to say how much it hurt because then he’d stop.

These handcuffs were obviously more expensive than your usual ones. Something he had shelled out for. They had a key, for one, a proper key he pocketed, denying you of any chance of freedom without him. 

But you wouldn't want it, the freedom, even if you could have it. You were so fucking desperate for anything he'd give you at this point, you were willing to put up with this, willing to put up with all his other games too.

Just as an excuse to feel him against you again, and to maybe make him happy, even if it was just for a few seconds.

You’d gotten resilient over the years though, your pain tolerance had built up. You could keep up with his games, his sick tricks and fantasies. You could do that for him

You’d do anything for him really.

-

The bathroom door opened, and you sat up, alert, which made the handcuff chains jangle against the pipe. The sound still made you wince.

Murdoc squat down to your level, though you couldn't read his expression. There was a depth of sexual hunger in his eyes that you recognized but everything else was cold, calculated, professional. 

So he wasn't kidding about that meeting with the producers then. 

He gave you a somewhat mocking smile instead of speaking first, which made your gut lurch. 

"Comfy?" He asked, though you could tell that he wasn't asking to be courteous.

"Bit cold." You said stoically, trying to get some kind of reaction from him, but he just shrugged his shoulders apathetically.

"You'll warm up soon enough, don't worry." He replied, going to fumble in his jacket pocket for something.

"Y'gonna tell me what's goin' on?" You were almost demanding at this point, but he just looked vaguely amused by your outrage if anything. 

"Well..." He started, and you noticed a dangerously familiar mischief in his expression. "I'll just say that our managers have been workin' pretty hard lately, with the new album 'n' such." He fished out what you recognized as a blindfold from his pocket, and he smirked when you noticed. "And well, I thought I'd give 'em a little treat, if you will, for all their hard work. Ya get me?"

"...What? No, I don't get it? What's happenin'?" This was a demand now, but he just let out a little laugh through his nose, kneeling up a little to bring his face close to your's.

"Yeah, like I said, don't worry your pretty head about it, mate." The blindfold was then pulled over your head and your world was suddenly dark. You were anxious now, far more than you were before, and any unfamiliar sounds you heard put you on even higher alert.

"You'll figure it out soon enough."

He ruffled your hair affectionately, and stood back up (you guessed from the sound anyway.)

"Oh and by the way, Dents. Don't make a racket about it. These people are payin' good money for your image and I don't wanna ruin that illusion for 'em."

And then he left again, without another word to you, leaving you even more confused and lost than you were before, and now incredibly anxious.

What was he talking about? What people? Was he talking about the managers? What was he going to do? Did you have to do anything?

Those questions spiralled in your brain for who knew how long, but you weren't left to stew in confusion for very long before the door swung open again, banging hard on the opposing wall and making you jump.

"Alright then, gentleman." Murdoc suddenly spoke up again, acting like the showman that he always was. "Allow me to introduce you all to my frontman, the very face of Gorillaz itself. 

World renowned singer, pretty boy, and halfwit. Stuart Pot, or 2D if you'd prefer. Twenty eight, Gemini if you believe in that shit, and the hottest piece of arse to come out of Crawley." You heard the familiar metallic click of his zippo lighter and the air suddenly smelt of tobacco. Of course. "Do what you will."

"Yeah, he's pretty, alright." A faceless voice suddenly grabbed your hair, pulling your face up, like he was inspecting you, already breaching your personal space. You let out a barely audible whimper but you kept quiet like Murdoc had told you to. "He good at takin' it though?"

"Good would be an understatement, mate. He's a fuckin' God." You felt a flush come to your cheeks and your dick twitched under your boxers. Silly as it might be, you still liked it a lot when he said those kinds of things about you, especially to other people. Made you think there was still a part of him that loved you like he used to. 

"Yeah, well, he can be as good as y'want, but he's still a bloke, ain't he? And I'm not a poof." A different voice spoke up and you felt your blood run cold. 

How many other people were there? Had Murdoc brought all of the managers from Parlophone here? And what had they meant by taking it? They couldn't possibly mean-

"And what's wrong with poofs, eh?" Of course Murdoc would have an opposition to someone's homophobic word choice over anything else though.

"Nothing. Nothing wrong with 'em at all. Just not one."

"Yeah, well." A new voice this time, gruffer, deeper. Anxiety was starting to set in. "A blowjob's a blowjob, innit? Doesn't matter if it's from a bloke."

Okay.

Now you were starting to understand.

"And if he's good as you say he is..." The first faceless voice spoke again, and you suddenly felt a harsher tug on your hair to bring your face up more, a hand came down to grip your chin with thick, calloused fingers, jerking your mouth open, and you could feel an already swollen cock pressing against your lips, baiting you, goading you, making you close the gap and take it first. You shook your head gently, trying to shake off the harsh grip.

"C'mon sweetheart." The use of the cliche pet name made you feel sick to your stomach. "Don't y'wanna show us how good you are like Mr Niccals said?" 

You didn't, you really didn't need to show off to a group of strangers about how good you were at sucking dick, especially when you hadn't even agreed to this in the first place. But you knew Murdoc was watching, he'd told them all how good you were, obviously thinking so highly of you when you weren't doing anything to deserve it.

And you wanted to make him proud, show to them that he was right to think of you so highly.

So you let go.

You opened your mouth for the stranger, and tilted your face forward to take in the head of their dick, sucking and lapping at it gently.

The stranger gasped, and the harsh pull on your hair slackened into something a bit more bearable, which allowed you to move forward, taking more of them in, and bobbing your head, up and down, like you were supposed to. You're making yourself go slow, to start with, build it up and give it a good pay off. That's what you had been taught to do. 

“Fuckin’ hell, he really is something, ain’t he?” Clearly you were doing your job well.

But the stranger above you seemed to have other plans, gripping your head with both hands and pushing deep down your throat, and you almost gagged against it, but it's not enough to push you that far. You were struggling to breath though, and you huff in and out desperate little breaths when you're able to. Saliva dripped from your lips, down your chin and onto your bare chest.

You swallowed hard against the intrusion, trying to feel more comfortable with a dick half way down your throat, and the stranger moaned, deep and heavy, and you almost felt a bit proud of yourself for getting such a strong reaction. 

You moved in time with their desperate thrusts, your constant drooling actually making the friction a little easier to handle. You pushed yourself down to the base, your nose buried in rough, coarse pubic hair, and they kept you there, both hands on your head, stroking through your hair, and the affection is more irritating than anything else. 

You hoped Murdoc was watching you, seeing how good you could be, you were even good when it wasn't for him. You could put up with anything for him, if he wanted you to. 

_ "Look at me, please, just look at me.  _

_ See how good I am, see how pretty I look with a dick down my throat. _

_ I'm a good boy, please, tell me how good I am.  _

_ Tell me I'm good, tell me you're proud of me.  _

_ Tell me you never want to see anyone else fucking me 'cus I'm yours, only yours, all yours. _

_ Please. _

_ Look at me." _

You didn't choke, you barely gagged, and you never pulled back, never gave up.  

Previous partners had commended you on that ability. An unbridled determination, as they had put it. A willingness to try anything, do anything, as long as it would make you happy. 

Tears were already leaking down your cheeks, your nose was running, but you could feel the thrusts getting faster, less precise. You were almost done. 

The stranger would cum down your throat, call it a job well done, and leave the two of you alone again. And you could do all of this for him as well, if he wanted, even though your throat was going to be sore and bruised from the previous onslaught, you could smile and say it was good, and thank him for it.

But they didn't cum. 

They pulled out quickly, and before you had the time to realize it, someone else pushed themselves down your throat, and you had to do it all again.

It was unrelenting. The second you thought you were finished with someone, the next one would take their place, shoving themselves down your throat without even a word of warning.

Constant.

Barely enough room to breath.

You'd lost count of how many people were there at this point, couldn't keep track, all of it blurred into one, becoming mush in your head. Could have been one person for all you knew. 

None of it felt familiar though.

None of it felt good.

Some were too rough, pulling your hair far too hard, pushing in deep too quickly, making you gag and splutter.

Some were far too gentle, for your taste anyway. Didn't even push in until you did it yourself, kept their hands to themselves, made you do all the work. Maybe that was their tactic, but you assumed it was probably one of the vaguely homophobic ones who spoke up earlier, who didn't want to imagine you as a man but still wanted a taste of how good you could be.

And, oh yeah, you were pretty fucking good.

They choked on their words when your throat tightened around on them, when you swallowed hard against the intrusion, make your throat tight, and took them into the base, just the way you had been taught. 

But none of it felt the way it should.

There wasn't any subtle slowness, no-one wanted to make you wait for it, ask for it yourself, beg for it. There wasn't any buildup, holding it just in front of you, ever so slightly out of your reach, so your mouth was practically watering for it, and then the payoff when you got to taste pre-cum on your tongue and feel the weight of his perfect dick on your tongue. No tugging you into place, keeping your head still, pinching your nose until you were close to choking. 

Nothing like that.

It was all so far from perfect, it was almost depressing.

It was even a bit boring after a while. 

They repeated themselves, asked the same questions, made the same poor attempts of dirty talk. 

You were even getting slightly soft. 

Obviously someone (and you knew how) had noticed though, as they stepped up, close to you, and you felt the softest touch against your dick, the slightest amount of pressure, feeling like rough leather, and you immediately knew what it was.

You moaned against the dick down your throat, unable to say his name, and you were hard again, your hips keening for more of that wonderful pressure, desperate for any more attention.

But it went away.

Because this wasn't about you.

You were just a catalyst in everyone else having a good time.

It could have been anyone else, and it would have felt the same.

Would of been even better if you’d been a girl, big tits, long legs. Then everyone would have wanted it from the start.

But you could make them want you just the same. 

The grip in your hair suddenly became tighter, pulling harder, and the dick in your mouth suddenly pulled out, spilling cum over your lips and onto your tongue.

You almost asked why they didn't just cum in your mouth, since it was cleaner and easier, and it wasn't like you weren't going to swallow, but the first orgasm started a quick chain reaction of someone else cumming on your face, from a different direction. Suddenly you were quite thankful for the blindfold being there, wasn't a chance of any of it getting in your eyes. 

As soon as someone was finished, another person would take their place, much like the process before. It dripped down your face in viscous strings, streaming down your chest, making you shiver, like it wasn't already cold enough in here. One bastard had even managed to get most of it in your hair, which annoyed you more than it probably should have. 

But you were a front man, and you were desperate to please. You stuck your tongue out obediently, like you presenting yourself for the strangers to do whatever they wanted with you, and though no-one came in your mouth and down your throat, you guessed your efforts were appreciated nevertheless.

Eventually, the last person squeezed out the last drops of cum onto your waiting face, and you were finished. You had served your purpose.

"Well, Mr Niccals." Nameless face number one from before spoke up first. "I'd have to say, that meeting went by rather well." 

Several voices spoke up in agreement, and you could have laughed about how obscure this all was. Who knew how many people were actually there, you sure as hell didn't. It was violating in a way. They'd always know you were, but you'd never know any of them, probably forget what their voices sounded like as soon as you medicated later. You and your stupid brain.

"Yeah, we'll make sure we give a good word about Demon Days with EMI within the week." Nameless face number two. 

So that's what this was. A business agreement. You let out a cynical laugh through your nose, which the group ignored. You weren't even good enough as a band frontman anymore without sucking someone's dick to get your record published.

Un-fucking-believable.

"Especially if you're going to be bringing Mr Pot to any of our, er, future meetings, if you get me?" Vaguely homophobic prat from before seemed to have changed his mind then. You felt almost proud of yourself.

"Yeah, he's a lovely little fella, ain't he?" Murdoc finally spoke again, letting out a dirty chuckle. "But mind you, this ain't gonna a regular occurrence, alright? Not all that fond of sharing 2D, for reasons I'm sure men of business would be able to understand, no?"

A pleased shiver ran down your spine involuntarily. Maybe it was ridiculous, considering the situation, but you really loved it when he used that tone of voice, dangerous and assertive, so wonderfully intimidating and protective of you, it almost made you forget why you'd ever been annoyed with him in the first place.

"Right right, that's fair." Nameless face number three spoke up. "But, you know, your talents can only put you so far in the music business. It's tough out there, as you know. We're just saying that-"

"And listen to what I'm saying, mate." He interrupted, that rough friendliness to his voice gone, replaced with all harsh sounds and using a tone you very rarely heard, reserved for occasions such as this, or the rare times he talked about his family. "Stuart is **mine**. End of. I welcomed you into my studio outta the kindness of my own heart, even let you use my frontman to your leisure. So, you get us our record deal, and all the collaborators we could fuckin' imagine." 

Us. Our. We. Made you beam with pride. 

"Or I take this to the papers. And believe me, I got contacts you couldn't even imagine, and they are far more likely to publish my story than some barely legal teenager with her tits out on page three. Understand?"

Silence, before occasional murmurs of recognition and agreement. 

"Wonderful." He finished, sounding triumphant and incredibly pleased with himself. "Now clear off. We got work to do."

The room is silent, albeit the sound of expensive shoes on the tile and the door swinging open and shut again. 

"What a load a' cunts." Murdoc finally said, filling the silence and clicking his tongue. "That's what I get for bein' generous, I s'pose."

You didn't say anything.

He walked over to you, his heels making soft clacking noises against the bathroom floor, and knelt down to your level, stroking through your hair, shushing you softly, like he was trying to calm you down. 

But for some reason, you couldn't stop shaking.

"Shhh, it's alright, angel. It's just you and me now."

"But they-"

"They're gone now, it's okay." He said, interrupting you. "You did so well, sweet boy, you did such a good job."

You knelt there in silence while he stroked you and praised you, almost stunned thinking about what just happened. Your body ached and you felt filthy. Not even in a metaphorical sense. Cum was drying on your skin and in your hair and the cold bathroom was making you shiver. The cuffs had cut into your wrists, would leave a bloody bruise there for the next few days. A reminder, perhaps.

But still, you kept quiet. Just like he told you to before.

He unlocked the cuffs eventually, tenderly stroking the lines they left behind even though it hurt, and took off the blindfold. The harsh white luminescent light in the bathroom stung your eyes after you hadn't seen it for so long, so you squeezed them shut again, digging the heels of your hands against your tired sockets.

He helped you to your feet after, even carried you with ease back to his Winnie bridal style, which made your stomach lurch with discomfort. Laid you on his bed, got you off because your dick was still hard and he said he wanted to reward you in some way, It didn't feel right, but you appreciated it anyway.

Came just the same.

He fell asleep eventually, his back away from you, but you lay awake, staring at the horror movie posters he had on his ceiling, trying to ignore the pounding in your head, trying to ignore all those signs in your head screaming at you to get out of there. 

You did eventually though, nicking a shirt from his floor ("Who the fuck is Mick Jaggar?" A present from you some Birthdays and Christmases ago) to throw on against the cold of the car park

Ran back to your room, on the floor below, following the winding corridors that you had come to associate with the only home you had anymore.

Got into your room, your comfortable constant, took your pain pills, and the relentless pounding in your head stopped, letting you breath easier. 

You lay back in your own bed, alone, feeling almost safer than you had before, but clinging onto his shirt and smelling it, smelling the cigarette smoke and stale beer that lingered even when he wasn't there.

You were good. He said you were good. 

That was enough.

You fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of dark, faceless monsters that towered above you and a devilish con-man with a sick smile that you had sold your soul to.

But that couldn't have any meaning.

Could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> murdoc is not a good boyfriend
> 
> also i'm publishing this in a mcdonalds at 11pm because i still have no wifi. everyone thinks i'm writing an assignment and they're wishing me luck. jokes on you fucker, i'm writing porn. going to hell, repent my sins etc.
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com
> 
> ray x


	5. Mine, Yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 5: possessive  
> second person, switched perspective. italic is 2D, bold is murdoc

_ The stage was yours. They loved you, screamed for you, devoured your presence over anything else. You could barely hear yourself think over the ecstatic fanfare and the constant noise in your ear piece, but you'd never been more at peace. You smiled so much that your face ached and sang so long your throat was killing, but it was bliss. _

 

**The stage was his. Whenever he smiled, they screamed for him, and you thought about the hoards of teenage girls who thought about him with their hands stuffed in their knickers in the middle of the night.**

 

_ You sang for them, and when you caught eye contact with him, he smirked and you grinned. The heavy bass he played was almost godly, music to your ears and you felt alive, couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop dancing. _

 

**He took his shirt off, said something about it being too hot on the stage into the mic, mopped his face with it and threw it into the crowd, and you could see girls fighting over it. You barked out a laugh that was practically silent over the drums and guitar, while he and Noodle shouted into the mic together, looking almost like brother and sister with the way they moved in unison, smiled that same mischievous smile, making all the girls swoon.**

 

_ You started Feel Good Inc, cackling into the mic, and suddenly everyone was screaming for you, cheering, taking picture after picture on shitty flip phones to remember this forever with low resolution pictures. Murdoc swaggered centre stage with you, and you stood back to back, you listening to that gorgeous, thrumming bass line, breathing heavy, almost moaning  "F eel good " like a porn star into the mic, driving the crowds wild. You could see him grin like the devil himself when you started your verse, and you tilt your head back onto his shoulder, smiling like a fool. The flashing is near constant now in the corner in your eye, and you could only imagine what the forums and news boards will be saying about your performance together tomorrow morning, but right now, it's just the two of you, singing and playing together like it was the last show of your life.  _

 

**The moans he was coming out with should have been illegal, they were that fucking hot. You would have given anything to just stop the show right there and fuck him on stage, not caring about who stuck about to watch. He looked at you like he's innocent after his truly vulgar display, smiling so sweetly as he sang his next verse. Like he wasn't making you practically tent your jeans with just that voice of his, thank god they were the fashionable skinny kind is all you could say. But it made you grin, thinking about what everyone was going to say about you playing together, standing like that together, him leaning against you with stars in his eyes, moaning like a porno for you, knowing that he was your's, and he always would be.**

 

_ You stepped back as the other artist rapped into the mic, taking your phone out your jeans and taking a picture of the crowd, of Murdoc playing undisturbed, drinking in all that attention he loved so much. He looked like a proper rock star, his body slick with sweat, his hair a total mess, but that smile selling every single part of him to the crowd. They loved him too, he said they only paid attention to you but that was a total lie. He could rile them up just as well. He did it so much better than you sometimes. _

 

**Dare came up next on your set list and 2D could finally step back and watch you all playing together. It was nice not having his pretty ass as a distraction from your playing, and you loved seeing Noodle so excited on stage. She was a proper little performer and she was clearly having the time of her life up there too, smiling and dancing about. You caught eyes with Russel, and he nodded to you, and you back to him. On stage was generally the only time you two got along, but that was enough sometimes. At least for now. You all held the same pride in that girl at centre stage, and that's all you needed.**

 

_ You had all decided on a big finish with All Alone, where you could all sing together, all use your talents that you had become so famous for. The crowd loved it, cheering all of you on as you sang. You finished up and you shouted into the mic, a huge smile on your face, taking a grand bow, feeling more showboaty now than you ever had at a show.  _

_ "Thank you, Birmingham, you've been fuckin' incredible! We’ve been 2D, Noodle, Russel and Murdoc! And we're Gorillaz! Good night!" _

 

-

 

_ There was always a group of girls trying to get backstage without passes. Even more so lately. A guard would come and knock on the door, asking you if they were allowed, and sure, they were pretty. _

 

**Pretty ugly, in your opinion.**

 

_ And they would simper, and smile at you, telling how wonderful you were on stage and could they pleeease just come backstage for a few minutes, they just want to talk with you for their blog or their webpages or something like that. They always had ulterior motives though, you having learned that from the few times you did actually let a few girls backstage. You would smile sympathetically, shake your head, say "Sorry girls, no visitors allowed, I'm afraid." and they would pout and whine, but the guards would shoo them away, leave you with your privacy and your fresh pair of socks that you still always asked for. _

 

**You hated when they did that. Begging after him as if they had a chance. As if he'd let them even touch him. It was almost hysterical.**

 

_ Noodle would glare at you when you shut the door, and you would shrug apologetically. You understood, you were fifteen once, and she hardly had the chance to interact with any girls at back at Kong. Russel would pat her knee affectionately, say "When you're a bit older." and she would cross her arms and look annoyed, which would make him chuckle. And then you'd excuse yourself to find the venue's bathroom. _

 

**You pinned him against the sink, one hand over his mouth and the other stuffed into his briefs, slowly working his dick to attention, and his eyes rolled back and he whined against your skin. Fucking beautiful.**

**"I know why you chased those girls away, Dents." You whispered in his ear, making him shiver deliciously. "You wouldn't have even been able to get hard for them, would you? That pretty little dick doesn't work for anyone but me anymore, does it?" He shook his head desperately, gripping onto the counter, breathing hard through his nose, and you sucked dark little love bites on his neck, grinning wickedly as you did, because you were just that proud of yourself.**

 

_ He had you wrapped around his finger, touching you and playing with you, until you begged for it, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear, telling him how you couldn't, wouldn't get hard for anyone else, thinking about anyone else. Because you belonged to him, and only him. Then he'd jerk you off and make you cum in your briefs, or turn you over and fuck you hard against the counter, making you scream so loud that someone else in the venue had to have heard you. He would bite you and mark you where everyone could see, so everyone would know you were his. _

 

_ He was your's and he knew it. You made him repeat it when you fucked him, hard, making him gasp, scream out your name, loud so everyone could hear him. So everyone would know that he was your's. So no-one else would try and take him from you, wouldn't even look at him when you were there. _

 

_ I'm your's. _

**You're mine.**

 

_ Words like that were practically love confessions at this point, spoken more than "I love you" and carrying so much more weight. He owned you, possessed you, mind, body and soul. In deep hours of the night, when he held you close, you just had to whisper them to get sweet kisses from him, repeating his side of the mantra against your skin like it was a prayer. _

 

**The next time a crowd of girls came to the door, you answered together, your arm around his shoulder and a nasty, dark love bite clear on his neck, sharp bite marks, and you'd grin, showing off the only teeth that would be able to do something like that. And they'd always know. They could always tell.**

**"What is it?" He'd say, and they'd all immediately look embarrassed and look away, not as daring as they usually were.**

 

_ "This lot allowed backstage?" The guard asked, like they always did, and you shrugged your shoulders, smiling like a dope, not even trying to be apologetic this time.. _

_ "Sorry girls, no visitors allowed." You said, and they rushed away without having to be told twice like usual.  _

 

**"Check the forums!" You called after them. "Got plenty of backstage info for ya blogs there!" And you kicked the door shut, laughing together, like the way you used to.**

 

_ Noodle still looked annoyed at the two of you chasing girls away again, and Russel shook his head disapprovingly. _

_ "You two ain't right." He said gruffly, but you would keep smiling, though you knew, deep down, he was probably right. _

 

**Nothing mattered.**

 

_ As long as you were his. _

 

**And he was your's.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell i wrote a lot of frerard fanfiction in my day? i hope you can
> 
> i'm hoping for a triple update today, but it'll be a double at the very least. i'm trying very hard to catch up on all the days but i'm starting to pritorize this over my university work, which is. probably bad. if i do a triple update though, that'll mean a very VERY exciting prompt to fill tomorrow (exciting for me anyway)
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com
> 
> comments are my lifeblood and keep me alive in the wee hours of the morning,  
> ray x
> 
> P.S NOODLE IS GAY


	6. Practice On You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 6: creampie  
> second person, from murdoc's perspective. bottom murdoc, top 2D

When Stuart had first asked you if he could try being on top one night, you almost laughed right in the poor boy's face.Though you were hardly to blame for this reaction, of course.

Everything about him screamed submissive. His long, slender limbs, his gentle fingers that he constantly played with, those big, soft eyes. The fact he wore clothes a size too big and dressed like he had zero control of his life, and whined when things didn’t go his way.

He bit his lip a little when you didn’t say anything, gnawing at it, and fiddling with his fingers, tapping them together, which honestly made the submissive image even worse for him.

"I might be good at it." He said. "Done it before."

“Done it with girls before.” You reminded him in turn..

"Not that different, is it?" He replied. Fair play to him, he had a point. 

But you guessed that most of the girls that he had been with simply laid back and thought of England, as it were. Made him do all the work, made him work for their attention, not daring to lift a finger lest ruin the illusion of dominance for themselves.

Especially Paula. 

She made you work for everything, even stuff outside of the sex, as great as it was. No wonder she was such hard work, honestly, being with Stuart had made her greedy.

Nevertheless, you agreed to it in the end.

Well, how couldn't you?

He was so genuine and honest with his request, and when he looked at you with those big, puppy dog eyes, you couldn’t bare it. It would have crushed him if you said no.

And you figured what did you have to lose?

-

It turned out that you, in fact, had a lot to lose.

Especially your dignity.

See, a little tidbit about Mr Stuart Pot that interviewers liked to skim past and people often forgot about was that the boy was kinky as all hell.

To an almost embarrassing degree actually.

He had a ridiculous amount of sex toys for someone at his young and tender age, more latex and leather stashed away in his wardrobe then he knew what to do with. 

Ropes and chains, gags and handcuffs filled boxes under his bed, ready for him to whip out on some unsuspecting fucker who thought they were in store for a night of casual sex before he was asking them how big of dildo could they take and whether they preferred cotton or hemp rope, which would result in them legging it at the last minute, not bothering to leave a number behind.

You should know, you were already in that situation.

You reminded him, however, that he'd already convinced you to let him be on top and that he shouldn't try to push his luck so soon. He looked a little disappointed, which would have usually made you feel bad, but when a man comes at you brandishing a sex toy that could probably kill a badger, you have to draw the line somewhere. 

He was easily convinced when you were both undressed though and you were on top of him, kissing him hard, making him whine against your lips, threatening to bite down. Didn’t feel much different yet, in your opinion. 

His hands pushed through your hair, not even pulling like you generally did. You both had very different approaches to being dominant, it seemed. And you sort of liked his approach.

He rocked his hips against yours, pressing your dicks together, taking them both in one of his lovely, gorgeous hands, wrapping those long, piano player fingers around them, and you pulled back from the kiss to tip your head back with a loud gasp, moaning in ecstasy at the feeling of him jerking you both off simultaneously. 

It was unbelievably hot to watch as well, pale skin against dark, his length compared to your thickness, contrasting beautifully, like you were made to be together. He kissed your ear gently, sucking at the lobe, almost but not quite biting down, so ridiculously gentle and loving, you felt like you were in heaven, or as close to it as you were going to get. 

"You're beautiful." He whispered, and the sheer honesty in his voice made you laugh, and it reminded you of the first time again, when you were drunk and giggly and you whispered sweet words to each other, so no-one else could hear them except the two of you. No-one was allowed to witness a moment so intimate

"You're better." You whispered back, and he pressed kisses against your neck, across your collarbone, down your shoulders, and fuck, if this is what bottoming felt like, you could get used to it. 

"Lie back for me, yeah?" He said against your skin, and he didn't need to tell you twice. 

You lay back against the bed, hands behind your head casually, looking at his body, barely lit by the tiny red lamp in the corner of your Winnie. He smiled at you and your crooked black heart melted for him again, like it did every time he smiled at you, and the recurring question of "How in the hell do I deserve you?" came to your lips.

"Could say the same about you." He said, with a soft chuckle, as he reached down to get something off the bed.  

"Now you're just teasing me." 

When he sat back up, he's pulling a black latex glove onto his right hand, and you had to admit, the satisfying snap of the latex made you shudder with excitement.

"Not teasing." He said, and he started smearing what you assumed was lube on the fingers of the glove. "Not yet anyway." And oh, how you wanted to kiss that shit-eating smile right off his face so you could never admit just how hot he looked in the low light of your Winnie, kneeling above you, with his perfect dick on show.

"You ready for me?" He asked, and you nodded, unable to find the right words for just how excited you were. 

He gently coaxed your legs apart, pushing one up against your chest, and he stroked over your hole slowly. The lube is cold, and it made you gasp out in shock, and to his credit, he stopped immediately, gauging your reaction. Nothing like you.

"It's alright, just a bit cold." You mumbled, almost embarrassed that he stopped over something so small, but he nodded and kept going, stroking gentle circles against your hole and, eventually, pressing a finger inside of you. 

It was uncomfortable, at first, but it quickly became bearable, then comfortable, and then quite lovely very quickly. You sighed out in deep pleasure as he pressed in and out of you, tipping your head back in pure bliss. He was so precise, his perfectionism around his work being clear during sex as well as his music, and he took exactly the right amount of time to do everything as he needed to.

You might have done this before, but this was certainly the nicest prep you'd gotten.

Shortly after, he added a second finger to the mix, opening you up wider, and even daring to scissor them. And you moaned and keened for more just the same, raising your hips against him, staying wordless though, in case any embarrassing old-time phrases slipped out when you weren't paying attention.

He watched you while he did it, never taking his eyes off your face, watching your expression change with each thrust, reading how your eyes squeezed shut, how you bit your lip, how you twisted against him.

Obsessed with you the way you looked when you were with him. 

Eventually, he stopped, withdrawing his fingers from inside you, and you almost whined at the loss, like you were a virgin or something. 

He discarded the glove and he retrieved the lube again, kneeling up and covering his aching dick. No protection it seemed. How daring.

He got into position, both your legs pressed against your chest, and you almost felt vulnerable, letting him see you like this, a way very few people had, and for good reason. But the vulnerabilities melted away when he kissed you, hard, the way you kissed him, and he pushed inside of you.

You groaned against his lips, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him in close, close to you, not letting him pull back. Like he would anyway. You probably weren't as tight as he expected you to be, but you hardly think he minded. It was probably a relief not to be fucking a virgin, would have made the situation far more difficult in your opinion.

Gradually, he pushed deeper inside of you, pulling away from your hungry mouth, and keeping his hands on your hips.

"How does it feel?" He asked, and he genuinely meant it, not a way of getting dirty talk out of you.

"Like heaven." You gasped, and it made him laugh, as he kissed down your chest.

"Must be pretty fuckin' good for a Satanist to call it heavenly, eh?"  You let out a little groan, both from what he said and his sudden interest in biting at your nipple ring, giving it a gentle tug with his teeth.

"Shut the fuck up." You mumbled, head swimming from the constant pleasure, and he's chuckling like a fool against your skin, and you didn't even know it was possible to love someone more than you did right in that moment. 

But you love him so much right now, your head hurts and your gut aches, and everything is screaming at you for letting yourself be put into this position again, but you hardly have any room to care about it, compared to the ache in your crooked little heart for him, just him and nothing else.

You could be whole again, you could be okay again.

The voices would stop, the hallucinations would stop.

He'd help you, because that's what he did.

His thrusting went deeper, faster, in and out, and he groaned your name, telling you how good it felt, how good you felt, how much he loved you, and you just wanted to hear him say it again, even if it was something just for the heat of the moment.

"Say it again. Please." Getting hard to breath.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." In time with his sporadic thrusts, losing his pacing. "I love you so fuckin' much, Murdoc." 

And you dragged him into a hard desperate kiss before you could say it back, and he thrust his hips sharply against yours one last time before he came inside you, and you were quick to follow suit, spattering against both your chests.

You were both breathing heavy, hearts pounding, and covered in sweat and other, er, substances. You sighed, falling back against the bed, suddenly completely exhausted and worn to the bone.

He pulled out of you slowly, barely making you wince, and you caught him staring at what you could only assume was cum dripping out of your ass. You let him have his fun though, raising your hips slightly so he'd get a better view of it. 

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." He smiled sheepishly, obviously somewhat embarrassed about being caught, but held your thighs open, spreading your ass open a bit further, watching it drip down your skin. You shuddered at the sensation, and the feeling of him watching so feverishly. 

Weird little fucker.

He eventually stopped looking at your ass to crawl up beside you on the bed and you lay together, looking at one another. 

"Could do that again." You said, trying to keep your tone casual, but he beamed brightly at you, like he was excited or something. 

Whatever made him happy.

"Did you like it?" He asked, and you shrugged, because you're not going to tell him the truth about it probably being the best sex you’d had in a long time, obviously. He's smiling away anyway though, clueless as ever, and you took him into your arms, kissing his hair, stroking his skin and holding him closer than you usually did at nights after sex. 

"Liked it just fine." You said, and that's all he needs to hear, all he needs to know.

He'd find out eventually. But not tonight.

Not while you could still fake it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i put out chapter 5, i go to a lecture, i edit this, i put out chapter 6, i mcfuckin die cus i'm running off of zero hours of sleep
> 
> murdoc's got a lotta baggage. baggage that may be explored in later chapters. my housemates are trying to sort out our lack of wifi for the past five days, so hopefully i can stop publishing these in public places and do it in my own dam house like a proper sinner
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com
> 
> interact with me or i will shrivel up and die (but still manage to put these fics out because i refuse to let the gorillaz fandom die),  
> ray x


	7. Alienating Our Audience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 7: humiliation  
> second person, from 2D's perspective.

He pushed you back against the bed, your head still spinning from the drugs barely dissolved on your tongue, and buckled a new collar around your neck. 

Clear plastic, unlike your others. Vinyl you assumed. Stuck to your skin. Shows off your bruises and love bites from earlier even better. No name tag like your other ones though. Just a thick silver ring, begging anyone to attach a leash to it, to pull you around like a dog. 

You knew he’d like that.

It matched the cuffs he buckled on next. The same clear plastic. It’s irritating, made your skin itch for some reason. The chain joining them was thick and heavy, weighed you down, grounded you so you didn’t float too far away.

The pale bondage made the act feel less harsh though, far less real. Then it usually felt anyway. A harsh contrast to your usual black leather and thick, silver studs. But without the engraved heart tag though. Less harsh, and less personal.

The cuffs were just as uncomfortably tight though, the collar ever present when you breathed, making every breath feel like an effort and come out wheezy and forced.

Despite that, it made you feel innocent, in a sick kind of way, before you did things like this to please your partners, before you craved it to feel whole. 

You longed for that feeling of normalcy that you never had to begin with. 

He kept looking at you, staring at you, devouring you with his hungry gaze, unrelenting. You licked your lips nervously, you felt obliged to look away. He moved from your peripheral vision, getting up from the bed to retrieve something from the other side of his van but your gaze stayed forward, not following him as he walked away. 

He didn't tell you this, but he had a camera in his hands, trained on you when you looked back. He grinned with sick delight at your surprised expression and the light above the lens was already flashing red. Red and dangerous. Already filming you. You saw it glint in his eyes and you suddenly felt so many more pairs of eyes on you, judging, mocking. 

Always watching.

Your paranoia was setting in, your breath shortened, you could feel yourself panic, and your usually so well hidden tics decided to kick into high gear now. 

And he knows, of course. 

He always did.

"What's your name?" He began, obviously wanting you to talk for the camera. 

You didn't want to speak for anybody but him, but he wanted you to, he'd be happy if you did as you were told. Might even reward you if you did well.

You swallowed down your pride. It would make him happy.

"Stuart..." You started, but he was quick to shake his head, obviously not satisfied with your answer, making a tutting sound with his tongue, patronising you like you were a child..

"No, no, your real name, angel." 

And of course you knew what he wanted you to say. His nickname. His petname for you. Just so he could show off just how much you belonged to him. Your life outside of him didn’t even matter anymore. It was like you didn’t have an identity outside of how he saw you, what he gave to you. 

A sick part of you liked it that way. 

"2D." You mumbled, looking down at your feet. Your voice sounded foreign, like it didn’t belong to you. And it didn't. It always belonged to him. “What are you doing?” You said, looking back up at him, unable to stop the shakiness of your voice and you sound even more vulnerable than you feel. 

The vinyl stuck more against your sweaty skin. Made it even more uncomfortable.

“Ah, just a little gift for the forums, love. Nothin’ to worry your pretty head about.” You could see his devilish smile behind the camera, though the rest of his expression was masked by the bulky hardware. “So many people missed out on seeing you backstage at our last show, see, so I thought I’d give ‘em somethin’ a bit more.” He paused then, as if he were looking for the right word. “Personal. Just from you”

You wanted to object. Of course you did, you weren’t a total idiot. 

You knew that you had friends from school in the forums, ex girlfriends maybe, so many people who would see. This. Something so seemingly out of character for you. 

You, Stuart Pot, the ladykiller of Crawley reduced down to the mess on the screen. By a man, no less.

But your protests were caught in your throat when you realized just how much you didn’t care. So much of you wanted this. You wanted so desperately to be shown off to other people, so everyone could see what he could reduce you down to. 

So everyone could see who owned you.

Your dick ached and your cheeks were burning with embarrassment, a flush quickly spreading down your neck, but you smiled at the camera, like you knew he wanted. 

After all, you were a front man, weren’t you? 

It was your job to represent Gorillaz at its best, so you figured you’d done far worse for him before, you could take everything he wanted from you. 

Even if it was all being filmed. And the ever looming threat of the tape being posted on the forums still weighed heavy on your back. 

No, don’t think about that.

You just had to be good.

You could do that. That’s what you were best at. 

Being good for him. 

"Got anything to say to all your loyal fans, 2D?" He asked you, and your tongue suddenly felt heavy in your head, unsure whether he was joking or not. Whatever the case, you kept on smiling, though you were now, quite obviously crossing your legs together, trying to hide your telltale erection, because it was almost embarrassing how quickly this had turned you on, though you would deny it later.

"Er..." You started, mind reeling, trying to think about what you would usually in an interview or something. This would have been a pretty weird interview though. "Hello!" That would do for now. You paused again. "What else should I say?"

"How much you love getting fucked, perhaps?" He suggested, with a sly grin.

"Murdoc!" You cried at him, outraged, your cheeks already burning with shame. "Ya can't say that!"

"Hmm, why can't I, Dents?" He practically purred and fuck, that tone of voice made you melt. He set the camera down on the bedside table, angling it towards you. "Only the biggest perverts and sickos are gonna be lookin' at this tape." Running his hands down your chest, barely dragging his nails against your skin, you're already shaking. "Bet all those naughty girls who think about you with their fingers down their knickers will be well jealous when they see this."

"Murdoc..." Fuck, this was way hotter than you thought it would be. 

"Might turn 'em on though." He continued, his face close to your's. "Seein' such a lovely boy like you getting fucked by someone like me." He kissed over your ear, and god, when that filthy tongue traced the shell of it, you whined like dog in heat, your hips jutting up for attention. "I've seen it. So many people love thinkin' about it. Thinkin' about all the dirty things we do together."

"You're terrible." You gasped out, and he chuckled like a villain against your cheek, lapping up it, and it feels so filthy and so wonderful at the same time.

"You love it." He whispered and he was right.

You did love it. You loved it so much.

He gripped at you through your briefs and it's shameful how hard you are. He didn't bother to give you any relief though, just touching and toying with you, pushing you closer to your edge and pulling you back each time.

You didn't even care, just the touches were enough.

"Such a pretty, little thing." He murmured gently, stroking through your hair, his hands suddenly soft again.

You nuzzled his hands and your anxiety had cooled down a little. Preferred this interaction much more when the camera wasn't in the way. Though that ever present red light still blinked dangerously in the corner of your eye, you could ignore it, pretend it wasn't there. 

He stroked down your face, to your lips, they're already parted for him, and he pressed his thumbs between your teeth, coaxing your mouth open further.

You made a small noise at the back of your throat as he stroked over your tongue, and he shushed you. You were already drooling down your chin, thin strings of saliva pooling down your chest.

You suddenly felt messy, and you pulled at your cuffs, the sound making you shudder.

"Keep your mouth open." He said with a stern tone, and you nodded. 

Knew what he was going to do already.

He pushed you back against the headboard of his bed, straddling your chest, unbuckling his belt with one hand, a motion so practiced  that he did it with ease. He stared down at you, his expression unreadable apart from a predatory glint in his eyes. 

You hated how much you loved it. The way he looked at you like that. You'd come to associate that look with pleasure and intimacy, you were hardly to blame for it. 

But still.

He tugged his jeans down, stroking his already aching dick through his boxers and your mouth was already watering for it, for him. There's a tiny damp spot of pre-cum on the fabric and you're filled with an intense need and longing to lap at it, lick up anything he spilled prematurely, just to taste it, taste him. Bury yourself in his scent and be completely enveloped by him.

He must have seen the way you stared, your mouth open and your eyes blown wide, because he let out a dry laugh, stroking through your hair in an almost loving way as he gripped himself tighter, working himself over through his boxers, and you feel yourself keen forward, desperate to take him into your mouth, but he forced you to keep your distance, chuckling in a dirty way that made you tremble even more.

"Easy there, little chicken." Oh god, you were hopeless. You hated how easy you were to rile up every time this happened, but fuck, how you hated it now. He could get you whimpering just by crooning those little pet names and stroking your hair. Fucking hell. "We got plenty of time. Take it slow, yeah?" All you could do was nod your head, feeling more helpless than you did before. 

He kept going, stroking himself barely inches from your face, almost like he was putting on a show for you. 

Though it wasn't really for you, was it?

It was more for the camera, your faceless audience intruding on something so close and intimate, creating tension in a way, like they were there in person, watching you, thinking the same way you did, getting off the same as you. 

Just over him though, didn't even have to pay any attention to you.

Because he wasn't your's. He could do whatever he wanted, flirt all he liked, kiss anyone he pleased and you couldn't say anything about it, because it wasn't your place.

He would never be your's.

You swallowed against a lump in your throat thickly, trying to shake off those negative thoughts.

Eventually, though it took longer than you wanted, he tucked his boxers down, showing you his bare dick, standing to a beautiful attention against his stomach, and you practically moaned just looking at it. The head was a flushed brown, slit already dripping pre-cum that you wanted to suck clean.

A pretty silver ring pierced the soft flesh, shining bright despite the low light in the Winnie. He loved it when you lapped at the sensitive skin near it, never daring to tug at it, even when he told you to. He knew you had more control than that.

So deliciously thick and heavy, felt so good on your tongue, in your mouth, down your throat. You wanted it so badly.

You keened closer, tongue already out to lick at the head, but he kept your head still, wordlessly telling you that he had all the control right now, and he definitely wasn't going to let you get anything so soon and so easily.

He took the length of it in one hand, keeping a hold on your hair in his other, slowly urging his hips forward, pressing the head against your bottom lip. You glanced up, trying to see if you were allowed to touch it yet. He chuckled darkly, rubbing his thumb over the slit, letting more pre-cum drip out. 

"Go on then, sweetheart." He said lowly, keeping his eyes on you. "If you're that desperate for it." 

He kept your head pinned against the bed headboard, so you slowly started to lap at his slit, taste the pre-cum on your tongue, and the buildup has made it taste so much better. You couldn't move in further yet, but it was okay, this was enough for now. You kept lapping at the end, flicking your tongue against the pierced flesh, and he barely held back a groan at the back of his throat, his grip on your hair tightening, pulling, and it felt so good, you whine out, trembles shaking your body.

He suddenly jutted his hips forward sharply, and you felt that familiar weight on your tongue, your nose buried against his crotch, and you were moaning, deep and loud, against him, because you loved it so much.

He pressed his knee hard against the front of your briefs, pressing against your forgotten erection, and it was suddenly too much. You felt yourself losing it, your brain starting to shut down from panic and paranoia, but you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stop any sign of shut down in your body language. 

Focus, Stuart. Just focus on him.

He didn't know, of course. Or if he did, he kept going, pounding into your throat relentlessly, not noticing the way you shook underneath him, the way your eyes were white with panic and you were starting to sweat. 

He stopped for a second, when he was at his deepest, pinning your head down against him, and you could barely breath. You quickly glanced up at him, just to see any kind of expression, and he met your eyes, an exchange that was more intense than you'd have liked to admit. He pushed your hair out of your eyes, an almost affectionate gesture, before he pinched your nose, cutting off your last remaining airway, keeping you pinned down. 

The only thing you felt was panic.

Your gag reflex immediately started to set in, trying to dislodge him, but he just smirked down at you, staring, as if he found it funny. 

"You look even better in blue, Dents." He whispered, just for you, his voice dripping with sickly sweet affection like thick honey, and it made you ill.

_ “Bastard. Fuck you. I hate you. Get away from me. Don't touch me. _

_ Baby. Fuck me. I love you. Please don't leave. Touch me more. Make me cum.” _

Tears streamed down your cheeks, spit down your chin, runny nose. Your head spinning. 

Can't breath. 

_ “Stop.  _

_ Please. _

_ Anything else. _

_ You can fuck me raw, pull my hair, spit on me.  _

_ Film me all you want, I'll smile for all of it. _

_ Please stop. _

_ Don't hurt me. _

_ Stop hurting me. _

_ Stop. _

_ Stop!” _

Your eyes were practically rolling back in your skull, your head felt so heavy and foggy, your vision is blurring. And then he let go.

Pulling out of your throat.

You lurch, even spit up on yourself a little, it dripped down your chest and you felt disgusting.

He kept your head pinned, jerking himself off in front of your face, but you couldn't focus, looking up to him like you were looking up at a God.

Or looking at Satan himself.

He came on your face, it drips down, disgustingly viscous, and you almost wanted to cry. You're shaking, trembling, so hurt, so lost.

Of course, he didn't console you. 

Just reached for that stupid camera.

He pulled your hair hard, making you look up at him. You cried out in pain, but that's the only reaction. You're too tired to resist anymore.

"Look at that." He muttered, and that hideous smirk is pulled tight on his face. Like he's proud of himself. "Gonna smile for us, 2D? Go on, everyone wants to see it."

You didn't have the energy to argue with him, as much as you wanted to, so you did as you were told, giving a tired smile for the camera, pretending that everything was alright, when you had never felt more humiliated in your life.

"There we are. Ain't he pretty?" He said to no-one in particular, but you didn't say anything. "You're a good boy, aren't ya, darlin?"

The final image on the cracking tape is your face shiny with cum and tears, wet eyes, streaming down your cheeks. Drool coats your chin and your hair mussed from the constant pulling and tugging, your scalp ached. You sniffed hard, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand, still cuffed with the clear vinyl. But you smiled shakily for the camera anyway, ever the performer, and when you spoke, your voice cracked.

"I'm a good boy."

And then the picture cut out to static.

-

When you checked the forums the next morning, the file was there, like he promised. 

A separate thread from all the others had been created four hours ago, titled "Alienating Our Audience" cryptically, and the video played as soon as you opened it, the familiar image of you on his bed cutting from the static. 

But when you looked at the thread details, you saw it was just for the moderators. Only you and Murdoc were able to see it. 

Like a cowardly form of voyeurism 

Murdoc's words from last night echoed in your head again, as you payed idle attention to the video, watching the events unfold on the screen.

_ "Only the biggest perverts and sickos are gonna be lookin' at this tape." _

Your stomach lurched uncomfortably, and you closed the page, shutting your laptop.

You regret even clicking on it, because you'd proved him right. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm publishing this on my break and i have to be back at my lecture in like two minutes. it's stage to screen adaptions if anyone is interested
> 
> this started out as pure mindless self indulgence (check out that msi reference in the title lmao) but then i made it depressing. w/e i like this one all the same
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com 
> 
> next update will be out today and i am SO EXCITED!!!  
> ray x


	8. B-Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 8: latex/leather + day 9: master/slave  
> second person, from 2D's pespective, slight canon divergence

You had found an ad for it on a bus stop, of all places. 

Tacked next to the timetable with black duct tape, the illustrations of scantily clad women holding whips and various means of bondage immediately drawing your attention as you waited for the four thirty, 31 to Henwick Drive bus, Asda "Bag For Life" shopping bags stuffed with booze, fags and assorted food for the week weighing you down.

"Essex Fetish Ball. Friday 23rd July. 10pm til Late." In big bold font. "Enjoy a night of socialising with live demonstrations and private dungeon use. 18+ Only. Costume optional but encouraged." In smaller, prettier text, adorning the bottom, along with the venue address and numerous phone numbers, in case someone wanted to ring the organizers. 

You looked at it curiously, your mind suddenly wandering far away from you. The ad was interesting, of course though you were unsure of what exactly it was selling. 

An event of some sort, that much was obvious from the specification of a date and venue. But for a fetish ball? What was that? 

An old lady you hadn't noticed before, who was waiting at the bus stop with you caught you looking at the poster with your brow furrowed and tutted, shaking her head.

"It's appalling, isn't it?" She asked you, and you were snapped out of your daze suddenly.

"You what?"

"They're just advertising something like that so publicly. Ain't nothing sacred anymore!" She looked at you, waiting for you to agree, and you just nodded your head with a weak smile, hoping that would be enough to make her leave you alone, as she started to rant to herself about nothing being good enough for "your generation" anymore, and how back in her day, they were all monogamous and boring. Or some shit like that 

Your bus pulled up to the stop before you had time to retort with anything cheeky and get your ear clipped, and after you tackled with your shopping bags and jacket pockets, trying to find your bus ticket, you sat down near the back like you always did, letting yourself zone out peacefully as you watched the world go by, though your mind kept thinking about the poster you saw. 

When you decided there wasn't going to be a chance of you working out what the hell it meant, you stopped worrying about it, figuring if anyone was going to know anything, it would be your flat mate slash boyfriend slash part time boss.

You'd ask him about it when you got in.

-

"'Ere, Murdoc." You said, as you were unpacking the shopping bags on the kitchen counter.

Murdoc made a vague sound of acknowledgement from the kitchen table pushed against the wall, as he read a music magazine of some sort, a cigarette dangling from his lips, even though an ash tray was already overflowing with ash and stubbed out butts next to him.

"D'ya know what a fetish ball is?" You asked, putting the miniscule amount of food you'd bought away into the fridge, trying to find room for it all between cans of beer and bottles of wine.

"Why ya askin' a question like that, mate?" He replied, turning his head to look at you, the cigarette now balanced delicately between his fingers.

"Well." You started, kneeling down to stow your spirits in the dry foods cupboard. "I saw an advert for one at the Old Rep Warehouse on Friday when I was comin' home today." You stood back up to your feet, leaning against the kitchen sink. "Figured you might know what one is."

When you looked back at him, Murdoc's eyes had lit up with delight, and he was grinning bright and wide. 

You took a guess, and this was just a stab in the dark mind, that maybe he knew what one was. 

"A fetish ball? Here, in shitty old Essex?" You nodded your head and he stood up in excitement. "Stu, we have to go! What time they doin' it?"

"Er, ten o'clock." You said. "But, er, ya haven't explained what one is yet, mate."

He grinned wickedly, stubbing his cigarette out in the sink. "A fetish ball, my dear, is a wonderful gatherin' of like minded individuals, obviously all interested in the fetishistic arts." He explained, leaning against the counter next to you, rolling back on his heels. "Only with more live sex and professional doms offering free services in exchange for a blowjob." 

You looked at him in near disbelief, waiting for him to tell you he was joking, or something of that caliber. But nothing came. 

Yet surely something like that couldn't exist. Sure, your mates had told you about the Berghain when they went on the trip to Berlin that you couldn't afford, heard about all the people they saw walking to and from the place when they got back, but that was something completely different. But, by the way Murdoc explained it, it sounded kind of similar. And if he was honest about any of it, it actually sounded rather wonderful. 

You loved all the kinky shit after all, you were sure you'd love it even more live, in front of you, being able to talk to other people about it without scorn or the threat of being laughed at or looked down upon, and able to be open about it all.

Murdoc had occupied himself with getting a beer from the fridge, cracking it open and sipping from it, watching you closely, as you pondered to yourself.

“Sounds like ya know what you’re doin.” You said, looking back over at him. "Ever been to one then?"

"Oh yes." He said, with a sly smile behind his can. "When I was in London, crowd I was in went to one every other month. Organized a whole night around it, we did. Became rather notorious for it." He grinned, thinking back on the memories. "Developed a bit of a name for myself back in those days too." And then he said no more, resigning himself to drinking instead.

"So..." You said, in an absent minded, oh-i-don't-know, kind of way, scooting closer to him against the counter. "Would you, maybe, fancy going with me?" 

He gave you an amused look, his head ever so slightly tilted to the side. "You askin' me on a date, Mr Pot?" 

"Maybe." You replied with a smile, and he chuckled, shaking his head slightly, putting his can down on the counter and pinning you against the sink with his hips, his arms wrapped around your neck, and his eyes filled with sparks of mischief. 

"I'd be honoured." He said, his voice low and genuine, and he kissed you sweetly.

\- 

Friday couldn't fucking come soon enough. 

You spent the next few days with what felt like perpetual blue balls, for lack of a better expression, standing behind the counter at work, tapping your fingers and feet restlessly, constantly thinking about what might happen on Friday night. 

Murdoc hadn't told you about any of his plans yet either, which added insult to injury, and even though he had asked you your size in clothing a few times over those few days and even whipped out a measuring tape one night, he'd left you in the dark for the most part though, making you stew inside your own brain, leaving you clueless into how the evening would unfold.

When you eventually got to Friday, and you honestly had no idea how you did it, you could barely keep still at work, jumping from one customer to the next, talking far too fast, too eager, bright smiles, ready to jump onto a keyboard and give someone a little demonstration if they needed it.

Wanting your shift to go by quicker, get back home with your boyfriend and prepare yourself for the evening to come.

Your uncle gave you a funny look just before you clocked off, asked you if you were feeling alright. You nodded, said you were perfectly fine, why wouldn't you have been, and he just shrugged and gave you your wages, cash in hand. 

One of the perks of working there, you guessed.

Did well today, he told you, giving you a hearty pat on your shoulder. He'd put in a good work with some other companies if you wanted him to, and you smiled and said that would be great if he could. He called you lad and son, which you liked.

You'd made a lot on commission because of your boundless energy and you felt satisfied walking back to the flat with a heavy pocket of cash and a head full of exciting ideas about the prospects of your evening.

You got back home at around half seven, hanging your work bag up, loosening your tie and sitting down, heavy, on the sofa, feeling so positively domestic. Only thing missing now was a hot dinner in the microwave and maybe a picket fence. And a dog.

You breathed out a calm sigh, taking in a second to relax by yourself before the evening unfolded itself in front of you. 

"Murdoc!" You called out when you'd finally had enough of your own company though. "You in, mate?"

"Bedroom!" He called back, his voice echoing around the flat. "Can ya come and help me, I'm a bit caught up!" 

Caught up in what?

Whatever. You were happy to help if he needed it.

When you entered the bedroom, the first sight you caught was Murdoc standing standing in front of the full length mirror by your bed, examining himself as he waited for his hair straighteners to warm up.

The second sight you caught, however, was what he was wearing.

His typical loose evening attire of a ratty old jumper from Primark and a worn out pair of jeans had been abandoned for the night, in exchange for tight, skimpy lingerie, shining almost unnaturally under the flickering bedroom light.

You first noticed the pair of tight, black panties that cupped his ass wonderfully, paired with a matching garter belt around his hips that clipped black stockings around his thighs in place with plastic clips, so tight, almost digging into his skin. A black chest harness adorned with tiny pleats and bows, made of entirely straps, mimicked a bra, exposing the shiny silver barbells that pierced his nipples, and he was tugging a pair of long, black fingerless gloves into place as he waited, reaching up to his elbow.

All of the garments were made of same material though, which was something you recognized almost immediately.

Latex.

Your mind raced and you wondered for maybe half a second as to whether he had scrolled through your internet history and found some of your more shameful frequently visited websites, but before you could consider it any further, he turned to you, a sly smile on his face, hands on his hips, looking so sexy and confident, you swore that your jaw almost dropped to the floor.

Fucking hell.

"You're home early." He said through that smile of his, crossing the room and stopping in front of you, and he's almost your height. You looked down and saw that he was wearing dangerous looking heeled boots, the shaft flushed tight to the stockings, and he's pulling them off so perfectly, it makes your head spin. 

You couldn't even manage to make words, you were that blown away.

He grinned, showing off his pointed teeth, and grips your work tie hard, pulling your face close to his, and if he was trying to achieve an intimidated "don't-fuck-with-me" look, he was doing it absolutely perfectly. "Well Mr Pot." He started, walking his fingers up your chest casually. "How do I look? Think I'm suitable for that date of ours?"

"Holy shit, Murdoc."

And that’s all you could say.

He laughed at your complete lack of subtlety, and let go of your tie. "I'll take that as a yes then." And he left you to it, picking up his straighteners and sitting back down on the bed to keep getting ready

You honestly didn't know how you were going to survive the night. You were practically tenting your work trousers already and he wasn't even ready yet. You weren't going to last. You were just going to look like a weird pervert, barely able to control himself while his partner knew exactly what they were doing, so much more experienced than him, so much older.

Alright, mate. Calm down.

You composed yourself eventually, since a panic attack was probably not the best way to start the evening, and you sat on the bed with him, just watching as Murdoc kept going about his business with ease.

He was wearing a pale blue Alice band in his hair temporarily when you got in, to keep his hair out of his face, but he quickly plucked it away as soon as he was sat down and started to straighten his fringe, his fingers making deft little sections that he tackled one by one. 

"Good day at work?" He asked, making casual conversation like he wasn't sitting on the bed in fucking latex underwear, and you're distracted for a good few seconds, just continuing to stare at him. "Stuart." He quickly snapped you out if it though.

"Hm, what? Work? Oh yeah, good, it was fine." You said, too quickly. In an attempt to make the atmosphere as casual as he was making it, you stood up, scooting over to the other bedside table, and setting the wad of notes you got from your uncle in the drawer, next to a pile of assorted cables and an embarrassing amount of condoms. 

He hummed appreciatively as he worked, and when he was finished with his hair, he shook his head a little, shaking it out of his eyes, in an attempt to give it a bit more volume. He smiled at himself in the mirror, turning the plug outlet off in case he forgot in the midst of preparations. 

"You look..." You started, your words feeling thick on your tongue as you kept staring, watching him quickly slip into the en suite before you could finish your sentence.

"Don't lose ya head too quick, faceache. Not even ready yet." He shouted from the other side of the door, and you heard him start to hum a Rolling Stones song to himself, one he played around the flat often.

You lay back against the bed, letting out a little huff of desperation. 

He already looked perfect, and you were already getting off to just the image of him in the tight latex lingerie. Couldn't even imagine how he was going to top that off.

Turned out, he had topped the ensemble off with a simple black dress, barely covering the panties it had been cut so short. Sleeveless and low cut, originally where a cleavage would have been at full view, but it still looked just as lovely without it. 

The harness straps casually slipped down his shoulders, and he pulled off the look so effortlessly, without even a second thought. 

He adjusted it in the mirror, attempting the smooth over the wrinkles in the fabric, before he turned to look at you.

"Well." He started.

"Well what?" You replied. 

"Are ya gonna get dressed or are you just gonna stare all night?"

You suddenly felt a little embarrassed and you could feel your face flush red. Murdoc rolled his eyes and went back to examining himself in the mirror. 

"Well." You mumbled, looking up at him. "Ain't really got anything like you, do I?"

"Oh, don't worry 'bout that." He said, not looking back at you this time. "I got you some things last time I was out."

"Wait, you did?"

"Well, yeah, of course I did! I was asking all your sizes all week for a reason, you dullard." He said, throwing his hands up in mock outrage. “I swear to Satan, Stu, you’re an idiot sometimes.”

Of course. That suddenly all made sense. 

He got up quickly and hurried to the wardrobe, kneeling down to sort through all the bags and boxes of shit you both had and hadn’t organized yet, before he pulled out an opaque white plastic bag. The kind you only ever got from sex shops or foreign food markets. And you guessed that it probably wasn't the latter.

He opened it, emptied it out onto the bed and left you to make your own discoveries as he stood in the mirror again. 

The first thing that fell out onto the duvet was a thick black collar, a metal o-ring attached to it, a few studs adorning it for a bit of flare. And two other things, the same shiny black latex that he was dressed, wrapped in their own plastic bags.

You reached forward and tore open the plastic, feeling the delicate latex in your hands for the first time. It was far thinner than you expected, and much lighter too. It was almost overwhelming to hold an item of clothing, that you had admired and, well, had essentially jerked off to for so long, physically, and not even just hold it, but to actually own it too. 

A pair of tight boxer shorts was the first article, short and breezy and would show off a fair amount of leg. A vest in the other plastic bag, a noticeable silver zip at the front. You glanced up at him while he busied himself putting a black metal hoop in his ear, accompanying the other studs that he adorned his pointed helix with.

"Ain't got much." You said, and you didn't want to sound ungrateful but. You were kind of jealous that he had so much compared to you. 

"Well yeah, it's ya first time." He said, glancing back at you, a amused look on his face. "You'd probably pass out if you tried all of this," He gestured at himself, at his extravagant outfit. "On your first night out."

"Really?" You frowned a little, looking back at the articles in your hands. Never seemed that difficult in porn, but admittedly, most things that seemed easy in porn were rarely as simple in real life.

"I already made that mistake once. Don't need you doing that too." He looked back at the mirror, reaching for eye pencil from the top of the chest of drawers. 

Right. He'd done this before. Knew exactly what he was doing. Cryptically referencing his past, and reinforcing his experience over you in one deft swoop. You shook it off though, knowing that you weren't going to question him about it. Not right now anyway.

"So, er. Do I just put it on then?" You asked, watching him as he outlined his eyes with black, fascinated by his intense focus.

"No no, I'll help you in a tic. Let me just do this." He mumbled, taking something else from the drawer, and coating his light eyelashes with even more black. 

For some reason, the look reminded you slightly of Malcom Mcdowell in A Clockwork Orange, and you were reminded of the time you watched it together. You'd found it boring but Murdoc talked endlessly about how hot he found the main character when he was a teenager, and how much he and his friends had enjoyed it in high school. Strangely fitting all of a sudden.

"You gonna tell me why you're in a dress as well?" You hoped he caught the humour in your voice. He simply smirked, rolling his eyes. "Not like I got a problem with it, mind. Ya look hot as fuck."

"You're practically a poet, Stuart." He said, blinking in the mirror, adjusting to the makeup, before he pulled a face, pulling an eyelid down and sticking his tongue through his teeth, making you smile. "Just my image, innit. Fetish shit is all about bein' someone you're not. And this is my someone." 

"Now who's the poet." You said thoughtfully, and he smiled sincerely, looking back at you. "Ya do look lovely though. It's different, but I like it."

"Always the charmer, aren’t you." He said, and he was finally finished in the mirror.

He stood in front of you, as if to say "how do I look", and you felt your heart swell and ache for him.

He really was beautiful. 

He'd sorted his hair out properly, having straightened the fringe but he'd left the back and the sides of it in it's natural curly state, which you always loved, always told him how cute it was when his hair was natural. He'd adorned himself with silver jewelery, thick rings around his fingers, studs and hoops in his ears and a particularly shiny cross bouncing against his chest. 

The dress looked perfect as well, hugged in all the right places, slimming down his waist, making his hips look bigger, made even his flat chest look feminine, which was the illusion you assumed he was going for.

He caught you staring and he grinned triumphantly, obviously very proud of himself.

"Your turn!" He said enthusiastically, clapping his hands together with excitement.

"So. How do we do it then?" You asked, and he was quick to go into the chest of drawers again, bringing out a bottle of silicone lube. You gave him a questioning look when he tossed it over to you.

"Ya gotta lube up first." He said, obviously having read your confused expression. "This shit sticks like a bitch if ya don't, so don't skimp." He also motioned to the shorts and the vest. "Put plenty in them too. It'll feel weird as fuck at first, I know, but just do it." 

"Any chance that you can do it instead?" You asked with a slight cheeky smile, somewhat hopeful that he'd be able to sneak in a quickie before you left for the ball.  

But he snickered quietly, shaking his head. "Ya know I would love to, mate. But! It seems I'm already all dressed up." He said, holding his hands up in defence, and oh yeah. He was wearing gloves. 

Then again, you were sure you would have loved to feel the latex against your skin, stroking you, getting you ready for it yourself, maybe daring to grip your dick because you were already so hard so quickly, tightening around you, making you groan, shifting, sticking to the sweat, and you could cum on his chest and it would just wipe away, ready for the next time, and no-one would know how filthy you had been together.

Your mouth was watering just thinking about it.

As if he read your mind, Murdoc flicked at your forehead teasingly, smiling like a sinner. "You're not gettin' anything yet, mate. I was taught better than to put out before the first date."

Even the whole date rhetoric was getting hot. 

Fucking hell, you were so far gone already.

"But I still get to watch you now." He said, showing his teeth with a grin, and without even having to be told to, you stood up obediently. He glanced at the clear tent in your trousers and chuckled, sitting down on the bed, his legs crossed. "Go slow, yeah?"

You nodded your head, starting to take off your tie. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons on your work shirt but he didn't care to notice, simply enjoying the view as you took it off, letting it pool around your feet. 

When you got to your trousers, you were embarrassed, of course, trying not to touch your aching dick as you pulled them down, fingers ready to pull your boxers down too, but looking up to Murdoc for guidance first, asking him wordlessly whether or not that was right. 

"Go on, sweetheart. Those too." You nodded, tugging them down obediently, and your dick quickly sprang against your belly. He made a gentle tutting sound with his tongue, going to stand up again. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" He said, and your knees went weak, as he sounded as if he was scolding you. 

Like a sexy teacher and a naughty school boy in detention. 

That's one fantasy for the bank.

He went down to his knees, stroking your length gently with his exposed fingertips. His nails were painted red and for some reason, that made it even hotter. 

"I'll get you off, if you ask me." He crooned, his voice low and sultry, looking up at you. 

"Please..." You started, biting at your lip when he kept stroking. "Please get me off..."

"Master." He said, finishing your sentence for you with a characteristic smirk.

"Master." You repeated, like you were testing it yourself. "Please get me off, Master. Won't ask again, I promise." He's grinning wild and wolfish now, and your head was aching from arousal. That and all the blood from your head suddenly having rushed south for far more important reasons.

"Mm, alright. I'll get you off then, only since you're such a dirty boy and you can't wait till afterwards for your treat." The way he's speaking was so different, you were biting back moans and whimpers already. He quickly glanced up to you first though, warning "If you touch my hair, I'll kill you." before he took your length in hand, immediately taking half of it into his mouth like it was barely any trouble at all.

The suddenness of it almost made you stumble against him, and you go to grab at something to steady yourself, instead settling on bracing yourself against the wardrobe door when you find nothing to grip onto, so there wasn't a chance of you actually stumbling and completely ruining the scene. 

He took you down with ease, slowly jerking you off as he sucked, his mouth and throat tight, moaning like a porn star, and it was fucking incredible. So good that you could barely focus on the words you were stuttering out, choking on them, barely able to tell each one from the next, all slurring into one. Must have sounded like a fool, but he never cared.

It was over far too quickly, and that you lamented. He swallowed it, of course, and he stood up when he was finished, going to check on his makeup, in case any of it had streaked, and hair in the mirror as if none of that had just happened. 

"Get dressed then. Ain't got an excuse now." He's smirking and you could tell that he was just so cocky and up himself, but it's not like you didn't give him a reason to be.

So you decided to do as you're told.

You covered your hands in lube, rubbing it into your skin and into the latex, and quickly pulling the shorts up your legs. It felt strange, like he had said, but the second that they're in place, it felt actually comfortable, forming to you like you were wearing a second skin. The vest was much less effort, most because of the zip giving you the slightest amount of leeway, and Murdoc helped you buckle the collar in place, giving the ring an affectionate tug when it was secure, kissing your cheek.

You admired yourself in the mirror as he rooted in the wardrobe for anything else you could wear, and you had to admit, you did look kind of good. 

Not to be narcissistic or anything, and the latex didn't allow much room to hide flaws but you were happy to see that you didn't have many on show. Your legs looked a bit skinny, perhaps, but that was hardly an issue in your opinion

Murdoc thrusted an old (fake) leather jacket in your arms that had been heavily adorned with patches and badges from the eighties, all lovingly hand stitched on from his uni days, you assumed. The kind you would suspect from him, satanic, pro-gay, lewd little sayings and pictures. Your favourite one was a little cartoon in the centre with the bold statement "GAY SEX IS IN" adorning the top and bottom. 

It was so like him.

He also told you that you could wear his army boots, which you laced tight (with a bit of difficulty, mind) while he called for a taxi to come to your flat, so there wasn't a worry about trying to get on the bus dressed like this.

You had a feeling that an audience on the bus at almost ten in the evening wouldn't appreciate your attire the way you did.

He shouted the address down the line, annunciating overdramatically, practically spelling out the directions for the company, despite your block of flats being the biggest, and one of the more popular in Essex, when it came to young people anyway.. 

He hung up, rolling his eyes, muttering to himself about how useless everyone was.

"Alright, stand up. Let me look at ya." He said, standing in front of you. You did as you were told.

He stared at you, walking around you, behind you, admiring you from all your angles, before he stopped, back in front, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Good?" You asked.

"Good." He replied, giving your cheek an affectionate tap. "Come on then. Better wait outside for this useless tramp to pick us up then."

You stuffed your set of keys deep into the pockets of the jacket, your wallet in the same pocket, heavy with your wages of the day, and your ID, as a just in case.

He gave you his wallet to carry as well, since his dress didn't have any pockets. Typical.

You didn't bump into any neighbours on the elevator down to the flat lobby, it being so late already and your block containing mostly younger families and students who were already out on the town, and you were able to cross the lobby without any interactions either, something you were both thankful for. 

The only thing left to do now was just wait for the taxi.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a double feature lads!! first part of 2D's first experience at a kink ball, second part comes tomorrow. this is just a little set up, a b-movie to tomorrow's feature presentation, if you will
> 
> i was so excited for this chapter. this is literally just me thinking about murdoc in latex and going "nice" and writing it for all to enjoy. i'm very excited for tomorrow as well. there will be drama, there will be angst, there will be a bar tender getting decked with a shoe, it's gonna be wonderful
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com
> 
> also i'm going to draw their outfits in this cus i'm that much of a loser lol,   
> ray x


	9. And Now: For Our Feature Presentation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 9: master/slave  
> second person, mostly from 2D's perspective, but occasional shifts. murdoc in bold. contains unrequited kissing and mild existentialism

When you got into the taxi, the radio was playing Depeche Mode, one of their songs that had been played a lot in your adolescence but you couldn't name for some reason, though the lyrics sounded strangely apt for the situation.

The driver cheerfully asked where the two of you were going so late at night when you sat down and the door was shut, said that you both looked ready for a showing of Rocky Horror in your outfits, which made Murdoc bark a laugh. He kept his hand on your thigh and threw his crossed legs over your knees, ever the showboat, so you could see where he might have gotten the resemblance from.

He made playful banter with the driver, and they started to talk between themselves as he drove. You sort of just sat there though, half listening, like you were trying to pay attention, but most of your head had drifted off into a gentle daze, watching the empty streets of Essex go by outside of the taxi window, the street lights whizzing past like ribbons of colour on a black canvas. Not many people were out and about tonight, surprising since it was a Friday, the weather was nice and the sky was clear, though maybe they had been out much longer than you had considered, and you were just getting older and going out much later than you used to. 

Who knew. 

The Old Rep must have been on the other side of town, but there hadn't been any traffic at the time, possibly due to the time of night that it was, so the driver (who had introduced himself as Cole in a thick Nigerian accent) had gotten you there much quicker than either of you had anticipated.

He pulled up to the front of the warehouse, and you could tell that you had the right place by the people who were stood outside it, in queues and huddled together. Most of the crowds of people were dressed in fetish wear, some decked out in extravagant gowns and suits, though some had kept it simple, much like you did. Smoking, drinking, laughing amongst themselves, snogging strangers or sweetly kissing partners, significant others, as if one didn't have a collar around their neck and their other was clutching a leash. Not distracted or thrown off by the uniform and roles you had all assigned yourselves.

It was almost refreshing, in a funny little way.

You got out the car, having paid Cole the taxi fare, plus a hefty tip because of the kindness and the conversation, as well as his speed. He shouted outside the window, sounding his horn at you, "You two lads give me hope! God bless ya!" before he drove away into the night.

You waited in the queue for around twenty or so minutes, where you both got compliments from the other patrons, though they worded it a bit strangely ("What a lovely slave you have." Said to Murdoc. "Your Master's a lucky man." Said to you.) 

You could feel yourself getting antsy and restless, desperate to just get in and just be there, understand everything for yourself, teach yourself so Murdoc wouldn’t have to anymore.

The girl at the ticket table was chubby and pleasant looking, with purple dyed hair in tight pigtails and blue gemmed piercings at her dimples, a silver ring through her septum. Her clothes were clear vinyl, showing off a bright pink strapless bra underneath and she was decorated with strings of brightly coloured plastic pearls. She smiled brightly when you came to the table, full to the brim with cheery energy.

"Love the outfits, you two!" She said, and Murdoc positively beamed with pride, his arm around your waist, pulling you close as if you were the thing he was supposed to be proud of. "Guessing that'll be two tickets for the ball, right?"

"Right!" He said, his voice loud and with zero shame. You loved it when he was like that. Shame was boring, and Murdoc was never boring. 

She looked at you with delight in her eyes, and she didn’t even have to ask what roles you had assigned each other, like she had with a few of the couples in front of you. It was clear by the collar around your neck and his affectionate hand on your hip who was Master and who was Slave in this situation. 

She quickly ripped off two tickets from her roll, and took the twenty that you had fished out your wallet with an affectionate smile.

"First time?" She asked you as she put away the note, and you nodded sheepishly. "Don't worry about it. It's not as scary as you think. Everyone is lovely and you're cute as a button too, so they'll love you just the same."

You grinned, suddenly full of optimism, thanked her and she gave you both your tickets, before yelling after you to have fun, calling you "newbie" affectionately.

When you got into the main room of the ball, you were slightly taken aback by just the sheer mass and presence of it all.

The floor was heaving with bodies, decked out in latex and vinyl and satin and velvet, makeup dramatic and glittery, all conversing with each other, drinking from wine glasses or pint glasses, some shots, some bottles of something or another. All dressed differently, which was interesting, some decked out in extravagant gowns and suits, some a bit more casual, some entirely covered up, not even capable of making eye contact with anyone because of masks or hoods, and some people wearing nothing but a pair of nipple pasties and a thong. 

Seemed there as a no nudity rule here, though the definition of nudity was blurred in places.

There’s circles of tables and chairs near the bar, and they’re already full of groups drinking to excess and cackling away at in jokes and stories shared between them, snacking on little bowls of crisps and peanuts, and sneakily enjoying a bottle of wine that had been snuck past the ticket booth.

No signs of any circle jerking either. 

There’s a few spiral staircases leading upstairs, and they’re filled with a younger crowd of people, dressed up in repurposed fetishistic Halloween costumes, or futuristic club wear purchased from Camden Market stalls, lolling over each other, touching, groping, kissing in a hot and passionate gathering of barely legal love.

Other doors lead to other rooms, private rooms as the poster has so proudly declared, and you decided that perhaps that would be something to wait for another visit. You weren’t quite adventurous for public scenes yet, you decided.

There was a gathering of crowds near the end of the warehouse, watching some bloke tie some girl up with complicated knots on a stage, oohing and aahing with each new movement, and a girl opposite to them danced in a cage, in nothing but a pair of pink go-go boots and frilly knickers. 

Heavy bass music could be heard playing from the upstairs section of the warehouse, lowly and quietly though, obviously not supposed to be the main focus for the crowds, so different from the clubs you used to frequent as a teenager after too many hits of ecstasy and shots of vodka, so wonderfully different and perfect and you felt intensely at home in a place that you had never been before. 

Maybe you understood what Murdoc had meant when he talked so feverishly about this sort of place.

 

**You were suddenly caught up in all of these emotions in your head and memories of London, and you felt a weird anxiety monster lurching in your stomach. You tried not to let it show though, gripping hard at Stuart's hand, and just hoping that he wouldn't be able to read your sudden change in body language.**

**Though you guessed he wouldn't, since he never was very good at picking up on things like that, as sweet as he was.**

**A woman, around your age and in a black catsuit, suddenly came up to you, all smiles on red painted lips and bright red hair, and complimented your dress enthusiastically. Though you were taken aback, you smiled, thanked her, and told her where you'd gotten it, as was the custom.**

**What you didn't expect was for this to launch a conversation about the best sellers for outfits, best suppliers for latex if you were going to make your own, and you found yourself far more interested in what she was talking about.**

**You backed and forthed about the topic for a good ten minutes, her telling you about sellers that she had found on the internet, you interested but complaining about prices and sizing never working in your favour, her emphasizing but exclaiming loudly "you don't do custom measurements, how brave!" and she took your hand, told you that you had to meet her friend, Freya, because “she makes dresses that you could just DIE for”, and you were suddenly in a crowd of maybe five or so women, all discussing patterns and suppliers and things like that.**

**You got so caught up in the conversation, so quickly, that you'd forgotten about Stuart, who must have gotten caught in the crowds of people and you couldn't see his tall, gangly ass or his bright head of blue hair anywhere close, and your anxiety flared in your stomach worse than before, but you couldn't get away from the conversation yet, everyone was still talking to you, so interested in what you had to say, and you barely had the chance to actually talk about things you liked, about yourself, that you didn't have the heart to stop.**

**He'd figure it out.**

**He wasn't a child.**

**He'd be alright.**

 

Murdoc has been dragged off by a stranger, leaving you behind in a crowd of people, and you had no idea what you were doing.

Everything that you had liked so much about the place was suddenly overwhelming and made you nervous, and you couldn't help but let your tics become visible, tapping your fingers together, biting at your lip, and you hoped it wasn't obvious. Even thinking about people seeing you do it was making you anxious. 

"Keep moving, thanks.

Don't look at me.

Nothing to see."

You decided that you needed a drink, desperately. 

You shuffled over towards the bar, the latex was chafing against your thighs uncomfortably, barging past other couples and stuttering out nervous apologies, just needing something inside you to blur your inhibitions, make you okay with Murdoc leaving you behind to talk with people who weren't you.

You almost hoped that he wouldn't enjoy it, that he'd come back to you and tell you how much he'd hated the conversations and how pretending to be engaged in it had exhausted him, just so you'd know how much he hated being with anyone that wasn't you.

Maybe you were clingy.

Whatever.

Last time you weren't clingy, your ass got cheated on. 

You sat down on the free bar stool, your head in your hands, like you were sulking to yourself.

"Y'alright, bluebird?" A bar tender that you hadn't noticed before stood in front of you, cleaning a glass. Smart suit and tie, ginger, freckled, a winning smile, and he spoke with a pleasant and friendly Welsh twang to his voice. "What can I get for ya then, eh?"

You smiled uneasily, shifting in the bar stool that suddenly felt too far off the floor. "Just a rum 'n' coke, please." You mumbled, and he nodded, already reaching down to find the right liqueur bottle. 

He poured your drink with a level of practiced flair that you found impressive, and slit it over to you after adding one, two, three ice cubes. You reached for your wallet to pay for it, but he held up his hands, shaking his head.

"Hey now, ya can put that away, alright?" He smiled sincerely. "It's on me tonight."

You were slightly stunned by the sudden act of kindness from the stranger, but hey, if it got you a free drink, you didn't mind at all. You nodded, and your hand retreated from your pocket for your drink. 

You sipped it casually, and the bar tender leant against the counter, his expression unreadable but...friendly? In a way that you sort of recognized. 

"So." He started, picking up the clean glass that he'd been polishing before again. "You here alone tonight?"

"No, no." You said, prodding at the icecubes with the thin straw in your drink. "I'm with...someone, I suppose."

He smirked then, setting the glass down. "He a boyfriend, perhaps?"

You shrugged your shoulders, and he leant on the bar, his elbows supporting his head that was getting much closer to you. "I dunno. Maybe." You set your drink down. "I think he is sometimes, but..."

"But?"

"But he does things 'n' it confuses me and I dunno why I bother to even think of him like that." You let out an exasperated sigh through your nose, and you drained your drink. "Like I don't even matter or somethin'."

He took your glass, and you shook your head.

"Dunno why I'm tellin' you this. Probably couldn't give a shit."

"Nah, I don't mind." He said with a cheeky smile, and you noticed he was pouring you another drink. "When you bar tend as much as I do, ya see the same kinda faces, ya know."

You shook your head, hoping he would elaborate.

"I see boys like you a lot, bluebird. Ya can tell they're so in love it hurts, but f'some reason, it's not reciprocated, maybe cus the other person is more ambitious, had more partners. Older, perhaps."

When he said older, it made your heart sting.

"Ya think it's not....ya think he don't love me back?" You asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, and gave you the second drink. "Maybe it's not that. But there's somethin', ain't there? Somethin' that's makin' you hesitate around the next step." He let out a little laugh. "It's a bit funny in a way too, cus it happens even if the partner is male or female. Perhaps we're more the same than we like to let on."

You let out a cynical little laugh, and drained half your glass in one swallow. You were going to be needing something stronger if you wanted to get drunk at this rate. Rum and coke weren’t exactly cutting it anymore.

"Ya wanna go for a fag?" He asked, a bored look coming to his face. "Co-worker can cover me for ten minutes 'n' I'm dyin' for one." He laughed gently. “Looks like ya need one as well.”

You nodded, ever eager to get out of this room for even just a second, and finished your drink. quickly 

He darted away for a few moments, telling the other girl behind the bar, who was dressed a little more adventurously than he had, that he was going for a cigarette, and he showed you the employees exit, letting you outside without having to cut through the busy, sweaty crowds, and leading to somewhere much more private.

He got out a twenty pack of Marlboro Gold, handed one to you, kept one for himself. Lit them on the same flame in a weird moment of sudden intimacy. 

Breath out a thick exhale of smoke, your head stopped aching and pounding, and you feel immediately better, like you could suddenly tackle anything.

Perhaps that's what addiction felt like, but you're hardly in a place to give a shit at this point.

"What's your name , by the way?" He asked, leaning back against the brick wall, flicking ash away. “Didn’t think t’ask before.”

"Oh, it’s Stuart." You replied, suddenly a little embarrassed that you hadn't told him before. "Ya didn't have to give me those drinks by the way." The cigarette suddenly felt heavy in your hand, when you remember he'd given it to you.

"Oh, I don't mind." He said, and that unreadable but friendly expression is back. "Couldn't stand seeing that pretty face so sour."

Pretty face.

You shook off the compliment with an embarrassed smile, fiddling with the cigarette and looking down at your feet. 

His boots.

That he’d given to you.

You immediately felt guilty, out here talking to some boy you hardly knew, just because he'd given you a few free drinks. 

You forgot about all the others things that made you unhappy that night, and all you wanted was to be with him again. All you wanted was to go back home, just to kiss and makeup, even though he’d annoyed you. Maybe order inappropriately expensive take-out, smile when he'd make fun of you for ordering so precisely over the phone, and watch shitty Friday night telly until you were too tired to do anything else but sleep on the sofa in each other's arms.

This wasn't you.

Wasn’t your scene, wasn’t your style. None of this was you.

You turned to the bar tender, who was still staring at you, and offered him an apologetic smile as you stubbed out your cigarette. Didn’t need it anymore to feel whole. 

"Hey, er, mate, thanks for all'a this but I should go find Murdoc. He's probably wonderin' where I am and-"

"What?" He was standing up alert all of a sudden. "But we were just gettin' started!"

"Yeah, but, don’t you gotta get back to work." You asked him, your head tipped slightly to the side in confusion.

“That doesn’t matter! Clara can cover me, it’s okay!” His insistence unnerved you a little, and you started to slowly back away, towards the door again.

"Nah, ya can’t do that to the poor girl, right?” You chuckled nervously. “And, I mean, I gotta go find-" 

He cut you off suddenly, grabbed at your, his, jacket by the collar, and dragged you into a hard kiss, his tongue already desperately forced down your throat, pushing you against the hard brick wall, pinning you down with his scrawny body.

You froze up against him, eyes blown white and wide with sudden panic, like a deer caught in headlights, stunned into submission.

Truth be told, perhaps if you'd been better at reading situations, you would have been able to tell that this was the direction he was going, giving you free drinks and cigarettes, complimenting you without even knowing your name first. It was almost cliche. Yet you still didn't read the situation, the interactions.

You were that clueless.

You made desperate little noises at the back of your throat, trying to push him away from you, but he simply gripped harder at your collar, holding you closer to him. The kiss is wet and sloppy and desperate, nothing romantic or subtle about it. Just forced and hard. He tasted of neat vodka and cigarette smoke, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to pretend that maybe it was someone else, your hands far away from your body so you wouldn’t touch him by accident.

A hand slipped down to your thigh, stroking up it, dangerously close to your crotch, and you felt sick from the sudden touch. 

But it receded as quickly as it came and he pulled away from you sharply, clutching at his head, whining and swearing out loudly in pain.

Murdoc stood there, in the low light of the employee's entrance of the Old Rep Warehouse, looking like some kind of twisted angel. 

He had his boot raised above his head, the heel thick and heavy. His jaw was clenched tight, his nostrils flared, and he looked down at the bar tender with a hate in his eyes that you had never seen before.

A bad time to say it, probably, but he looked kinda hot.

"Get your hands off my boyfriend, you fuckin' slag." He growled harshly, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

He scampered off, still holding his head, leaving you two together in an almost uncomfortable silence. You looked at him, as he put his boot back on, zipping the latex shut. He looked back at you, his brow furrowed, still looking angry, though the hate had subsided.

"Murdoc, I..." You started.

"Wanna go home?" He asked, and you nodded. 

And that was that. 

He didn't ask you to explain yourself, or tell you what had happened, what was going on. Nothing like that. 

It was like he had read your mind, or something. Perhaps it was just because he knew you so well that he didn't even need to ask. 

He called for a taxi and took your hand in his, stroking over it with his thumb.

"I'm sorry." He said, looking at you like he was looking straight into your head. "Shouldn't have left you alone like that. Got too excited, I s'pose."

You nodded your head, and brought his hand up to kiss over his fingers gently, making him smile. "I'm sorry too."

He let out a gentle sigh, wrapping his arms around your neck and kissing your hair, burying his nose in it. "Ya got nothin' to be sorry for, you lovely boy." He whispered sweetly, and despite everything that had preceded it, that moment had been worth the entire night.

You both escaped around the back entrance, hand in hand, and sat outside the warehouse, waiting for your taxi. You smoked heavily, from your own packet this time, didn't have to say anything at all.

He didn't let go of your hand.

And when the taxi pulled up, and you got inside, he straddled your lap, kissing you hard and holding you close, practically clinging, as if he was never going to let you go.

The taxi driver wasn't as cheery as Cole had been, and you could see his sneer in the rear view mirror, but said nothing, just putting the music up in efforts to drown out your sounds. You assumed he'd heard much worse on a Friday night at three in the morning.

At least you liked the song that played, even though you didn't know what is was. Would have been the only thing you listened to for the rest of your life if you did know it. 

He kissed you like he was aching for it, like he was a dying man desperate for it, desperate to fill your head with only him, make you forget all about that stupid Welsh ginger who'd gotten you vulnerable with acts of kindness and sweet words. 

Just wanted you to remember that you were his, and he was your's. 

But you didn't need to remember. Because you had never forgotten. 

You would never forget ever. 

You were obsessed with him, mystified by him, and so so achingly in love. 

You felt his dick ache through his latex panties, and yours was already standing to attention from such a short amount of attention. You just wanted to be home. 

You kissed like that the entire way home, him in your lap, his legs practically wrapped around your waist, burying his hands on your hair, and you did the same, your hips jutting up sharply, desperate for some kind of attention on your aching dick.

The taxi pulled up to your block of flats, and the driver tapped his knuckle against the glass between you, gruffly telling you both the fare and, gently putting, told you to piss off. Murdoc muttered something under his breath, dug in the pocket of your jacket for his wallet and thrust a twenty pound note in the little tray in the window, telling him to keep the change.

He gripped your hand tight, dragging you through the empty lobby of your flats, and towards the lift. He pulled you past the metal doors, and they closed on you, giving some kind of privacy, even just for a few moments.

It was bright with luminescent artificial lights, and the wall without the mirror was covered with teenage scrawl, witty graffiti or simply "Call Amber for a good time" followed by a string of numbers. 

He pushed you, hard, against the mirror, his tongue down your throat, his dick pressed up against yours despite the layers of latex between you, grinding against you desperately. You gripped onto his hips, trying to take advantage of any feigned dominance you had right now, but he quickly averted this by reaching up to grip at your hair and pulling back hard. You whined out hard against his lips and he pulled back to kiss and lick down your throat.

Hyper exposed, whimpering and trembling, your grip shook. He started to bite down your neck, sucking and leaving behind pretty little bruises. He gave each one an affectionate peck, and chuckled. His grind was unrelenting.

"Don't lose your head, darlin'." He whispered against your skin, and you wondered how he's keeping so calm when you're coming apart under him.

The lift stopped on your floor, and he just pulled away like he didn't care, leaving you to deal with yourself. You followed behind him like a puppy, as if a leash was attached to your collar.

When you got to the door, he turned to look at you, a little smile on his face. 

"Well, Mr Pot." He started. "We're back home. Had a lovely night."

Right. That same date rhetoric from earlier. As if his lips weren’t tinted darker from feverish kissing and his hard on wasn’t obvious through the skimpy latex, much like yours was. You grinned, ear to ear, like a dope.

"Will I see you again?" You asked and he shrugged, as cryptic as ever.

"Perhaps. If I feel like it."

"Can I have a goodnight kiss at least?" He smiled again, running his hands down the front of your jacket.

"Well." He said, his voice husky and low. "I suppose you can, since you'd been such a gentleman all night."

You leant forward to kiss him, but he held up his hand first, in front of your face, blocking you from going any further.

"But you can have it at the end of the night."

Oh.

OH.

He took a hold of your hand, unlocking the door to your flat and pulling you inside, and he's kissing you hard again, until you're breathless and panting, gripping onto his hips, groping his ass hard and he's groaning against your lips and you're so fucking hard for him already, it's making your head spin. 

He's pulling you towards the bathroom, which is something you didn't expect, but when he's turning on the shower and unzipping his boots, you couldn't help but drop any questions that you might have had and unlace your own, throwing off your jacket. 

You were about to offer your assistance with undressing him, perhaps for more reasons than just you being kind hearted, but he stepped over the ridge and under the water, fully dressed and it was so beautiful and sexy, you almost felt your heart stop and you couldn't stop staring.

 

**Felt like rain on your skin, catching you at your most vulnerable.**

**Like it was washing every part of you away.**

**You could feel your make-up smearing down your cheeks and you could laugh at how terrible you must have looked, and yet he still looked at you like that, pure adoration in his eyes, as if he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world.**

**He was sweet. Even though he was a total fool.**

 

He cocked his head to the side, looking at you with an almost peaceful look on his face. "Ain't gonna join me, sweetheart?" He asked, and it's almost embarrassing how quickly you lept over towards the shower to join him under the water.

He chuckled and pressed his lips against yours, in a deep sweet kiss, and you loved the sudden height difference again and being able to make as much noise as you wanted and being able to just touch that latex, stroking it as if it were a second skin against him, and he whined and moaned against your lips, dragging his fingers through your wet hair, tugging and pulling ever so gently and it's so affectionate and gentle and perfect, you loved it so much. 

You pushed him against the tiled shower wall, and you loved this new feeling of dominance over him, loved it even more that he wasn't stopping you, even encouraging you with all those lovely noises. You reached down to tug at his panties, and he's slipping them down his legs, freeing his dick and getting rid of another layer between the two of you. The latex is abandoned on the floor, following the water spiralling the drain.

He pulled away from the kiss, pressing his face against your shoulder. "Fuck me." He said, his voice low and shameless. "Please, Stu. Fuck me 'til I can't think anymore."

 

**Until you couldn't think.**

**You didn't want to think.**

**The image of him with that pretty, young boy behind the warehouse was still there, stuck in your brain, refusing to go away. You just wanted to stop thinking for a few minutes, focus on something else, anything else.**

**He nodded, ever eager, desperate to please you, tucked his shorts down, and fuck, his dick was so beautiful, you almost wanted to go down onto your knees and suck him off again, make him cum down your throat, make you his.**

**But no, not right now. You just wanted it hard and fast right now. Needed it.**

**Needed to forget.**

 

There was already lube among your other things, because of course there was. 

He was facing away from you, his face planted against the tiled wall, both hands urging his ass cheeks apart, showing you his hole and god, the image of is was so hot, even if this wasn't your preferred position.

You liked it so much more when you could see him though, look at him, kiss him without any effort at all, play with his nipples, tug at his piercings, make him whine out, make him cry, make him whine your name.

But you lubed yourself up anyway, spread it over his hole, making him gasp out and whine with delight, and you loved it, hearing those sounds from him. 

Soft delicate sounds when he was usually so rough and hard.

You wanted fuck all of that away, tear down all those walls he had built up around himself, tear him apart just to stitch him back together again, new, without his past, his secrets, his trauma on his back. 

You wanted that so desperately. 

 

**When he pushed inside of you, you're tight against him and he groaned out in pleasure, and you loved that you could make him make those sounds.**

**Only you could do that, you told yourself, only you and no-one else. Only you could fuck him so deep, make him cum with "Master" on his lips, tie him up, gag him and still do this, take it so easily and sweetly.**

**You were easy. Not tight like he was.**

**Not anymore.**

**But he still loved you all the same. Your boy adored you, worshipped the ground you walked on, and if you had asked him, he would have said it was all true. Made your heart hurt less just knowing that.**

**He started thrusting in deep, in and out, the thickness not quite there but sweet Satan, the length of it was perfect, just right for you, hitting your sweet spots with every thrust and you were coming apart underneath him.**

**The skirt of your dress was riding up, and your stockings made it easy to slip against the tile, but he held onto you, his arms around your waist, and even if you did fall, he would catch you, because he caught you every time you did fall.**

**You felt tears leak down your cheeks, but you could mask it underneath the water of the shower, so  it didn't matter.**

 

"Tell me I'm beautiful, Stu." He whimpered out through moans and whines, and it broke your heart in two hearing the defeat in his voice. "Please. Need t'hear it from you."

You held onto him tight and kissed his shoulder, where the latex strap was slipping, soft and gentle, and you slowed down your thrusts, ever so slightly.

"You're more than that." You said against his skin, and he shivered against you. "You're smart, and talented and so much stronger than anyone else." He clenched tight against you, and you gripped onto him tighter, rubbing your cheek against the smooth latex. "And you're beautiful. Most beautiful person I've ever fuckin' seen, Murdoc."

 

**He's perfect.**

**You wanted to cry because of how perfect he was.**

**Wanted to cling onto him, wrap your legs around his waist, claim him for your own and just let him fuck you as hard as he wanted, as hard as he could give it to you until he came inside you, and you came against him, like you were claiming each other.**

**You were close, and so was he, just as he told you. And you're slurring out for him to just go inside you, because you wanted it, needed it, and he whined your name when he cums inside you, and you cum against the tiles where it can wipe clean.**

**And then it's finished.**

**The latex was damp and cold now, almost uncomfortable.**

 

He unzipped your vest for you, and you did the same for his dress, and you practically peeled them off. 

He takes off the rest of his ensemble by himself, threw it over the side of the bath, and you do the same.

You don't say anything.

It made you more upset than you liked to let on.

He said he had to piss, told you to fuck off and leave him alone, and you hated the sudden harshness in his voice. 

You got a towel from the back of your bedroom door, drying yourself off, trying to wring the water out of your hair, and you fell back against your bed, staring at the ceiling, let out a sad little sigh.

You shouldn't dwell on it.

But you do.

You get under the covers before he had chance to come back and join you in the bedroom, try to go to sleep before you could talk anymore. 

 

**You stared into the dirty little mirror for longer that you would have liked to admit. Wiped away the streaking make-up, tried to ignore the wrinkles under your eyes, how heavy the bags had gotten lately.**

**When you tried to dry your hair, the little gray hairs that seemed so much worse against all of the black made you paranoid, and you plucked them out from force of habit.**

**What were you doing.**

**You were just slowing him down.**

**He was barely twenty two. What was he doing with your boring old ass anymore?**

**No wonder that bar tender had liked him so much.**

**They could have had an exciting life together. Clubs every weekend, no days stuck indoors because the other couldn't be bothered to leave the house, or because there was new episode of Bake Off out.**

**Sweet Satan, you were pathetic.**

**You rubbed at the lines, almost in hopes that they would rub away, but to no avail, of course.**

**Whatever.**

**When you left the bathroom and walked to the bedroom, Stuart was already asleep, or was at least pretending to. Almost made it worse.**

**You got into the bed, and held him close, your arms around his waist and your face pressed into the small of his back. He didn't react.**

**"Please don't go." You mumbled, mostly to yourself, though it stung when you didn't get a reply. "I love you so much. Don't leave me."**

**Still no reply.**

**You could deal with it though. You'd dealt with much worse.**

**Simply held onto him and tried to get sleep yourself.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i've written a fic about murdoc!  
> gorillaz fandom: you've fucked up a perfectly good character is what you've done. look at him. he's got anxiety
> 
> also it's seven am, i've been trying to write this for close to twelve hours and i still don't have wifi. it's been yom kippur today as well so i haven't eaten and it feels like i'm dying
> 
> next chapter is gonna be a murdoc back story character study kinda dealio, and it's gonna be ANGST
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	10. Really Good Karma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 10: sex work  
> second person, from murdoc’s perspective. oc is nameless.
> 
> TW: Contains brief descriptions of pedophilia, sex worker mistreatment, family abuse and disassociation. Murdoc is of age.

“Oi, Murdoc!” Shouting from the bottom of the stairs, immediately alerting you and distracting you from your cleaning, resounding to just shove an overflowing ashtray down the back of your bed. The bloke Vince had called you about was early it seemed. Hannibal had gotten to the door before you. Prick. “Someone at the door for ya!”

You ran down the stairs quickly, making sure to check your appearance in the tiny mirror on your desk first, and he pushed you against a wall adorned with old family pictures and knick knacks with his shoulder, blocking your path, sneering down at you.

“Get out of my way, ya berk.” You growled, ever eager to get downstairs.

“Meetin’ ‘em in our house now, are ya, ya little tart?” He snarled, ever cocky, so sure of himself. “If I told Dad what you were doin’, he’d kick ya out without question.”

“If he kicked me out, you wouldn’t have a place t'live. ’M the only one who pays rent in this house.” You bit back, venom on your tongue sharp.

He frowned, because he knew that you were right. Even if he hated how you made it, your money was the only thing that kept you all in the house, paid the bills most of the time and kept you fed. Though you didn’t have room for much else, it was enough for now. He muttered something to himself as he walked off to his room, slamming the door hard behind him, in a sort of defeat.

You smirked to yourself proudly, and went back to the front door.

“Sorry about that.” You said, suddenly all apologetic smiles, carefully chosen positions that were both innocent and best showed off your assets to what was, essentially, a client.

The fella at the door didn’t seem like he minded though, shaking his head, holding up his hands together in a nervous clutch, telling you it was alright, he understood how it was.

He looked the part.

A suit, thick glasses, balding, a bit fat in the unpleasant way. The textbook kind of guy who got off thinking about little boys. Which you were, for all intents and purposes, since you hadn’t thought to tell Vince that your nineteenth had already been and gone a few months ago.

People paid more for young boys since you were in such short supply and you didn’t want the chance on losing out on anymore clients or cash because of your age, and miss a rent payment that month.

You looked young for your age though, dressed in clothes that were too big for you to make yourself look smaller, though you were already barely five foot seven.

You could be a young as they wanted you to be. And they rarely wanted you old.

You let him in, held his hand and showed him upstairs to your room, doing your best not to let him get too acquainted with the rest of the house.

You’d cleaned most of the shit off the floor that afternoon, even vacuumed a little, but that was it. You figured that people might want you see a bit of your personality when they fucked you, liked knowing you were a real, actual person with thoughts and feelings, and not just a glorified sex doll that spoke back when the right dirty talk was in place.

Though some people did want that, of course.

And who were you to judge.

As long as they paid you for it.

“So.” You started, sitting down at the foot of your bead. “Vince tell you my rates?” Down to business first though, of course, just like you’d been taught.

The bloke nodded dumbly, fumbling with his suit jacket pockets, getting out his wallet. “Yes, but er.” He said. “Don’t really remember them that well. If you could just tell me them again-”

You cut him off with a gentle sigh, trying to stay patient, not ruin any kind of illusion that he had created around you. “One hundred to bottom, two hundred to top. An extra fifty for anything from my yes list, extra hundred for my no list. No overnight stays unless it’s in a hotel, and I charge by the hour. Understand?”

He nodded again. “So how much do I pay right now?”

“First hour straight up.” You replied, staring down at your chipped nail varnish, as if you were bored, and you were since this happened so much. The phrases were practically dialogue in your head at this point. “The rest comes after, depending on how long we take.”

He clumsily went through his wallet for a few seconds, counting under his breath before he brought out a bundle of notes, and passed it your way. You quickly thumbed through it, just making sure there wasn’t a chance of him skimping your cheque, but he hadn’t, since you counted two hundred pounds in twenty notes, gave him a curious glance over the stack of cash, wondering what perhaps he was going to be paying for.

“It’s a bit funny how you have a no list, but you’ll still do anything from it for an extra charge.” He said, with a nervous little chuckle. A first timer, perhaps. You’d go easy on him.

“Every boy has his price.” You mumbled, stuffing the notes into a Rolling Stones tin on your bedside. That was rent and bills for the week covered already.

You didn’t even need to ask what he wanted you to do. People like that were so painfully obvious and easy to read, it was almost funny.

You stood to your feet, and gestured for him to take your place on the end of the bed, which he did. Pulled your jumper off over your head and pulled your jeans down, showing off small, white cotton briefs. The best kind for perverts like this guy. He ogled you uselessly as you undressed, and you smiled because it made you feel powerful, even if it was just for a moment.

You’d taken a supplement to get yourself hard maybe half an hour before he turned up, since these days occurrences like this were so frequent, you couldn’t get hard over it anymore. But you still had a bulge in your pants for him to look at all he liked, and it would be staying there, no matter what things he had you say, how hard he hit you, how tight the bondage was.

You were a professional after all.

You weren’t sure what kind of situation he wanted you to present, any context that he had been thinking about, any fantasy that he wanted to live out, and his inexperience was suddenly pretty obvious when he just stared at you, practically naked in front of him.

You guessed this meant that maybe you had a little control of this scene in particular, and it made you smirk with delight.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You said, through a perfectly practiced embarrassed smile. “You know I get nervous when you stare, Daddy.”

You could tell that he was taken aback by how quickly you said it, even though it was on your no list, but like you had said before, every boy had his price. And you lived to please, even if you didn’t like it. You could pretend, for an hour or two.

You could tell that he didn’t know what to say, so you leant back against your desk, spreading your legs a bit wider, so he could see the way your dick throbbed under your briefs. He let out a shallow breath and bit his lip, and you felt accomplished with yourself.

You grinned, stroking over your stomach and across the bulge in the fabric. It twitched under the fabric and you let out a little laugh, acting like you were young and experienced.

“You like it when I do this?” You asked him, and he nodded. You were hoping questions might have opened him up a little, but it seemed you still had to make an effort. “Gosh, but I don’t know what to do next.” Gosh. You sounded like badly written porno. “Can’t you tell me what to do, Daddy?” Looking up to him, feigning innocence, almost pouting at this point. “I don’t know how to do it. Help me?”

“Well.” He started, and you’re smiling because you’ve gotten to him. This was going to be a bit easier on you now. “Pull your pants down first, then just touch it. So I can see, yeah?” You bit your lip and nodded, tugged your briefs down to your knees, and stroked over your aching length. Though the supplement got you half the way there, your sudden attention was pushing your dick a little further in the right direction, and when you dragged your fingertips over the head, your slit dripped and you moaned softly, not even having to fake it either.

He looked satisfied, kneading at his own crotch as he watched you, and you’re happy enough with that.

“Now grip it. Not too tight though or it’ll hurt, and jerk it a little, okay?” You do as you’re told, like a good boy, gripping at yourself, pulling your foreskin back and jerking it slowly. He started doing the same, almost in time with you, and it felt weirdly intimate in a way that you didn’t mind.

“Am I doin’ it right, Daddy?” You asked, your lip caught between your teeth as you gripped harder, without him telling you to. “Am I bein’ good?”

“God, yes, you’re doing it perfectly.” He slurred, and you could tell that you were doing a good job from the way he spoke, and you’re smiling, tipping your head back so he could look at you.

“Fuck, yes, please, I’m good, I’m doing so well.

Look at me, worship me, treat me like a Prince.”

You’re suddenly gripping tighter because you’re close and you didn’t expect to get there so quickly, so you slowed down a little, focusing on him the way he was on you.

“Why have you stopped?” He asked, and perhaps he had better stamina than you because he’s nowhere near as close as you. You bit your lip, big eyes, just the way they liked it.

“Feels weird…” You mumbled, shamefully.

“Does it feel good?” He asked, and you nodded. “You can cum, if you want to. I don’t mind, sweetheart, I want to see you enjoy it.”

“Okay.” You said, with a shaky breath, and you started again, gripping tight, jerking yourself fast. “Thank you, Daddy.” Speaking was shaky now too. But they always liked that. When you were too overwhelmed to even talk properly, slurring out pet names and begs and pleas. You imagined he’d like it too.

“Don’t have to thank me.” He said, and you could tell he just wanted to see you cum already.

So when you did, you made sure to give him a good show of it.

You threw your head back overdramatically, gasping out, making sure to cum all over your chest. Would have been better if you’d reached your face, but perhaps you could try that later, if he was like anyone else, and practically folded you in half over yourself, contorting your body so hard that it hurt in a wonderful way.

He was practically drooling by the time you did as well, and though you were the submissive in this situation, you loved that feeling of dominance when he stared at you, wide eyed, like you were his fucking God.

You sank down to your knees for him, ignoring the cum that dripped down your chest and onto the carpet, resting your face against his thighs.

“I can finish it, if you want, Daddy.” You said, that sweet smile ever present on your face. He withdrew a shaky hand, and you took him into your mouth.

You liked the weight of it, though the thickness of length was not anything compared to what you usually handled. But you liked this session so far, nothing too hard yet, and even though you hated using the d-word, you could drink to forget afterwards, and just ignore it while you were in the moment.

You sucked him off and jerked him off, waiting for him to cum against your tongue, and you could impress him by swallowing. You showed off your lack of gag reflex by taking him in deep, and he practically choked on his words.

You were so much more experienced than Daddy had taught you, it seemed.

When he did cum, eventually, though it took a while and you had reasoned that being because of his first time, you smiled again, swallowing it all down, not leaving any kind of mess behind.

Good boy. So well behaved.

He stroked through your hair, crooning soft words, congratulating you on taking it so well for your first time, and you almost laughed. He had missed the mark by about five years on that, but you appreciated the compliments nevertheless.

“You can fuck me if you want, Daddy.” You said, nuzzling your head against his hands. Again, disgustingly intimate and it made your stomach turn, but you guessed that he’d like it. “I can take it. I promise.”

He stopped stroking your hair, didn’t even need a response from him, and you were allowed to get up, onto your bed, practically crawling towards the headboard, lying against it for him, spreading yourself out, nowhere to hide.

He knelt above you, staring down at you, and you knew that the sudden submissive feeling is there on purpose, but you still didn’t like it.

Whatever. You could learn to deal with it for a while.

Should probably invest in a clock or a watch or something.

How long had gone by? You had no idea.

He gripped himself, trying to work himself over and make himself hard again, just for you. Weren’t you a lucky boy.

He unknotted his tie, and you could already tell what he wanted you to do. You stuck your hands up for him and he knotted them together gently, and it’s not as tight as you liked it, the restriction barely there, almost not worth charging extra for. But you were still going to. Just because you felt like it, and you were like that.

You could have smiled.

You tucked your hands behind your head, raise your hips up for him, so he’d be able to slip inside you easier. He had already put a condom on, when you weren’t paying attention, and you appreciated it because it didn’t break the lovely illusion that you had given yourself that he was maybe fucking you raw.

Everything this guy was doing was so gentle and intimate, you wanted some illusion of roughness there.

He eased inside of you, holding your legs open, and sweet Satan, it was lovely having a dick inside of you after so much buildup. You moaned out, sweet and loud, just for him, and you could tell he appreciated your volume when he dug his fingers into your skin, short nails barely making a dent but feeling pretty fucking good anyway.

“Fuck, I love your dick so much, Daddy.” You moaned out, and he jutted his hips forward and backwards sharply, and shit, that actually did feel pretty good. “Feels so good inside me. Do I feel good, Daddy? Does my ass feel good?”

The speed and force of it was a nice contrast to everything he was saying, which you had stopped paying attention to at this point, purely focusing on his actions, because that’s what was going to get you off anyway.

If you were good enough at it, and you were getting pretty fucking good at this point, you could pretend that it was someone else.

Someone who didn’t have a name or a face yet, but skinny, slender limbs, maybe taller than you. Long fingers. Nice hands. Wild hair and a sweet smile. Would call you sweetheart and darling, stroke your hair when your head ached, calm you down if you disassociated or had a panic attack. Never yell. Never slam doors or break crockery in front of you. Treat you right, the way you should be treated.

Never leave.

You whined softly, thinking about this nameless faceless person, as the bloke without a name thrusted deeper inside of you, erratic and paceless all of a sudden. It’s hard to focus because of it, and you swear you see white spots in your vision, as if you were about to pass out. Perhaps you were already disassociating, your mind desperate to get you away from the situation, and that happened as often as anything else during your sessions, so often that you didn’t worry about it anymore, kept taking your pills, hoping it would go away eventually.

Your vision goes black, and you suddenly feel as if you’re miles away from your own body.

-

He was getting dressed when you came to properly, buttoning up his work shirt already, and you continued to lay back on your bed, staring at the ceiling. There was cum on your chest, hadn’t reached your face again, but it didn’t look like he minded. Your hands weren’t tied together anymore either, so that was a plus.

You reached over to get yourself a cigarette, as cliche as it was, didn’t think to offer him one but he didn’t complain about it.

Lit it up and when you inhaled the smoke, your head felt better.

“So, how old are you really then?” He asked, tying his tie in a messy knot.

“Why should I tell you?” You replied, breathing out a heavy exhale of black smoke. He shrugged his shoulders, and turned to look away from you, and it seemed he could care less about whether you lied or told the true. So you figured you didn’t have anything to lose anyway. “I’m nineteen.” You said. “Feel pleased with yourself then? You’re not a proper kiddie fiddler yet.”

He snorted gruffly. “Not a kiddie fiddler to begin with.” He said, and you somewhat doubted him, but said nothing. “Didn’t ask Vince for a kid. Just asked him for a lad with experience.”

“Oh, well colour me surprised.” You took another drag from your cigarette, chuckling to yourself cynically. “He usually only ever gives me the weird ones with pedo fantasies. Good to know I’m his 'lad with experience’.” You used air quotes there. “Rather than his golden boy anymore. Probably replacing me with a younger model no doubt.”

He let out a little laugh, sitting back down on the bed, adjusting his belt and reaching for his shoes. “Do you have anything else in mind for your future, or is this it for you?”

“'This’ isn’t that bad a system for me, mate. Pays my rent and keeps me fed, don’t it?” You rolled your eyes, and later you would ask yourself why you had opened yourself up for the stranger. But you liked talking about yourself, and it seemed he had plenty of questions. “But no. This isn’t it for me. I’m going to uni in September actually, got into a school in London as well, if ya can believe that.”

“What’re you studying?” He looked vaguely impressed and you felt proudly smug.

“Social studies. I wanna be a doctor or a social worker or somethin’.” You flicked away the gathering ash from your quickly deteriorating stub. “Help people. Lads like me. That sort of shit.”

You weren’t lying when you said that either.

Sure, maybe the system had treated you decently. You’d gotten into it when you were old enough to know what was going on, old enough to understand it all. You never let anyone get the best of you, always made sure Vince never got more than his fair cut. And he had liked that about you. Given you toothy grins, and pats on the shoulder, said that he liked your spunk, your moxy, your attitude.

But he brought in new boys sometimes, tiny little things, and it irritated you for more reasons than just the feeling of being replaced. Just last week he introduced you to a kid called Andrew, calling him his new golden boy, must have only been fourteen, fifteen at the most.

Skinny, blonde, freckles, pale skin and blue eyes.

It made your heart hurt just seeing him sit there.

You just wanted to do something that would help. Get rid of guys like Vince, let them work for themselves if they were going to, so they got everything they deserved, and more. So they never had to shell out for someone again. So they were safe.

You let out a sigh, turned to the bloke getting changed at your side.

“What about you then, mate?” You asked, putting out the cigarette in the glass ash tray to your side. “Got a Mrs. or somethin’ back home?”

He froze up and you let out a laugh through your nose, looking up at the ceiling. You could always tell. It was one of your talents, you supposed.

“It’s not…I’m not doing anything wrong.” He said, but he sounded as if he didn’t believe his words that much. “We’re just struggling. And she doesn’t have the time for it like she used to and well-”

“Yeah yeah, heard it before. You’re not my first cheating husband and you’re not gonna be my last.” He hunched over in a sort of pathetic defeated way, and you sighed and gave him a little (note, it was little and barely there) pat on the shoulder. “I don’t kiss and tell though, mate. Your secret’s safe with me.”

He glanced back over at you. “Are you going to tell Vince about you leaving?”

You laughed a little, more cynically that you would have liked to admit, and shook your head. “Nah, he wouldn’t give me any clients if I did that. I’ll just drop off some cash the day before I leave 'n’ leave it at that.” You suddenly really wanted a drink. You got out of the bed to see if you could find any of the bottles you probably had lying about your hovel of a room. “Ain’t one of his golden boys anymore anyway, am I? Not worth nothin’ to no-one.”

He made a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat. “I have a colleague in London, actually. Recently divorced, looking for…someone, like yourself perhaps.”

You sat back up, clutching onto a bottle of Captain Morgan, your eyes suddenly wide with interest. “Yeah?” You asked. “And why would you do that?”

He shrugged, a gentle smile at his lips. “Don’t know. I think you’re noble, smart. I like you, I suppose.”

“Well, I’m touched. I like me too.” He laughed and you unscrewed the top of the bottle, taking back of swig of the neat rum with a little wince. He shook his head when you offered it. Whatever. More for you. “But yeah, that would be pretty wonderful. Give him my number, yeah?”

He nodded, without another word, and reached for his wallet again. You tilted your head to the side with confusion as you drank, when he took out another handful of twenty notes. Five, when you had counted. He only owed you an extra fifty for tying your hands down, so you just assumed the extra fifty was just a tip for your good service.

Three hundred in one night. Not too shabby.

You took the notes gladly, putting them away in the same little tin on your bedside, didn’t say anything about the tip, but neither did he. You deserved it anyway

You put your trousers back on and showed him out the door downstairs, told him you’d had fun and he said the same, like it was normal and he hadn’t just paid for it. Asked subtly if maybe he would book with you again before he left, but he didn’t answer. You considered maybe, for a second, kissing his cheek, but when he rushed off without a second word to you, you’re glad you didn’t.

You shut the door, leaning back against it, and letting out a heavy sigh.

Hopefully Dad didn’t hear anything.

You just wanted to go back upstairs, listen to your records, drink your rum and smoke your cigarettes until you disassociated into nothingness, until you couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Hopefully he would tell that colleague of his about you, and maybe you’d have a bit of security when you moved out.

Hadn’t even asked the guy’s name.

Funny how your head just stopped working like that sometimes.  

You turned up your records louder, so you didn’t have to hear Hannibal pounding on your door, or anything Dad was yelling at you, and you could lose yourself in your own head, for just a while.

That’s all you needed.

That’s all you had.

Maybe you could buy that bass you wanted with the extra cash that bloke had tipped you. Or some new clothes that were just for yourself.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay wow this one got heavy
> 
> this isn't an age play fic, and i'd really prefer if you didn't call it hot or anything?? it was just character exploration, as well as a slight bit of vent writing and idk. it feels out of place to call it hot, ya feel me? i'm also not a sex worker btw, but i have endless support for them
> 
> a less serious update comes tomorrow, i promise
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com,  
> ray x


	11. Whip You Into Shape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 11: roleplay  
> second person, from 2D’s perspective. sort of au but who knows

Mr Niccals sat down on your desk, glancing at you over the rims of his glasses, his look filled with annoyance and disdain, as if he was barely interested in you at all. Your palms started to sweat, and your mouth suddenly felt dry. You couldn’t imagine why

“Ya know, I did have things I was gonna do tonight, Mr Pot.” He said gruffly, barely able to hold back a sneer. “Didn’t think I’d be tutoring your useless arse past five either though, so that’s jus’ egg on my face, ennit?”

“Sorry, Sir.” You mumbled, sinking into your seat a little, just trying to keep your attention on the worksheet in front of you. Perhaps you would have been able to focus better without his legs practically spread on your desk and his crotch barely ten inches away from your face. Or perhaps you were overthinking things, this wasn’t about that at all, and he just wanted you to finish the work you were supposed to do in his class, rather than having pissed about with your friends for the whole hour. And that’s just how he sat.

“What is it ya don’t get, exactly?” He asked, and his tone of voice almost made you believe that he might have given a shit, but the look on his face said something entirely different.

“I jus’…take a while to work everythin’ out, I ‘spose, Sir.” And that wasn’t a lie either.

You were actually quite smart, all your teachers had said you were, as long as people gave you enough time to look at problems and assess them in your own way in your head, in a way where the numbers and letters didn’t all melt into a mush as soon as you read them.

“Gotta focus properly.”

He tutted irritably, glancing away from you again. “Any idea how long that’ll take?”

“No, Sir.” You said, and again, you wanted to say you probably would have sorted it out for yourself if he wasn’t practically breathing down your neck about the whole thing. But that would mean he wouldn’t be near you, and. Well.

He let out a huff through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest irritably. His eyes darted back over towards you, watching you tap your pen against the paper, bobbing your leg as a means to make yourself think properly.

“Ya know you wouldn’t be ‘ere if you weren’t pratting around with your mates all lesson, don’t you?” He said, and his tone suddenly sounded scolding, as if he was talking to a child, when you were nearly twenty. “You woulda gotten it all done durin’ the hour. 'N’ I could’ve gotten home on time, not stuck about in this dreary place.”

You felt your ears burn with embarrassment, and you sank deeper on the plastic chair.

“Well?” He demanded, and he clearly wanted an answer from you. “What 'ave you got to say for yourself?”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” You muttered quietly, and he smirked in a self satisfied way, before he got up from your desk and went to sit at his own, leaving you to finish the worksheet by yourself.

You carried on like that for a while, at least half an hour. Staring at the work sheet, working out each problem it had given you and trying to word it properly each time. You just hoped it still made sense.

He’d gotten bored of waiting for you to finish at this point, and he’d moved on to reading a book, his heavy heeled boots propped up on his desk, not even looking at you.

You bit and gnawed at your pen as you tried to work out another one of the problems, suddenly even more irritated that you hadn’t taken a more practical subject when there was only one right answer, no, you had to do something around essays and opinions, didn’t you?

Prick.

Whatever.

You finished the sheet eventually, suggesting your last opinion for worldwide equality or some shit, and walked it over to Mr Niccals’ desk. He looked up at you, once again over the rims of those stupid glasses, giving you a bored look, as if he was offended that you had distracted him from his book.

“Ya done then?” He asked, and you nodded, putting the sheet down in front of him. He put his book down and picked up your sheet, scanning over it, his eyes daring over the page.

“Can I go home now?” You asked, your arms crossed, trying to make yourself look bored. “Mum’s gonna be well annoyed if I’m late home again.”

Mr Niccals smirked, in an almost private way to himself, and set your sheet down, shaking his head humorously.

“Ya know, Stuart.” He said, interlocking his fingers in front of him on the desk. “I really think you would benefit from a bit of…one to one tuition, if I may? Just a bit of time with me to work everything out, answer any questions ya might have about the course. Ya know. Stuff like that.”

You nodded hesitantly as you listened to him speak, not really understanding the direction that he was going in.

“'Cus, really, everyone learns so differently. Ya know that right, you’re a smart lad.” You felt your ears flush again. “One person could be better with words and lectures, one person is better when they can hear it repeated, et cetera. And maybe you just need.” He paused, and started to fiddle with a wooden ruler on his desk. “A more…hands on approach, if you will.”

“I don’t quite understand what you mean, Sir.” You said, and he chuckled in a way that made you shiver.

“No no, course not. I’ll put it in words you understand, shall I, Mr Pot?” He then stood up, the wooden ruler still in hand, and walked slowly behind you, his heels against the floorboards filling the silence.

Though when you went to turn and look at him, he kept a firm, authoritative hand on your shoulder, urging you to keep looking forward. Slowly traced the ruler down over your backside, making you freeze against him, suddenly hyper aware of the situation.

“What I’m saying.” He said, and he brought his face close to yours, his mouth close to your ear and his voice felt so much closer, like it was shaking apart everything inside you. “Is for you to pull your trousers down, get over my desk, 'n’ let’s see how many answers you get right, understand?” His last words were practically a whisper, low and dangerous, and you almost melted against his grip.

You nodded your head and you could feel his smirk against your skin. “Yes, Sir.” You whispered.

“Good boy.”

And that was all he needed to say.

You quickly did as you were told, unbuttoning your school trousers and tugging them down to your knees (keeping the briefs up to retain a bit of modesty though).

It was almost shameful how quick you were to lean over his desk, showing yourself off for him, but the amount of time you had spent thinking about this and and situations like this was embarrassing and you worried that showing any kind of hesitancy would get the opportunity ripped away from you.

You were a good student after all.

Mr Niccals paced behind you, tapping the ruler against the palm of his hand, and you felt yourself shudder with anticipation.

“Eyes forward, Mr Pot.” He warned when he caught you looking, and you immediately snapped to looking forward again. He reached for his book again, and flipped through a few of the pages randomly. “I trust you’ve been readin’ up on your texts then, since you’re so confident in yourself.”

You felt a lump in your throat and you swallowed hard and uncomfortably past it, but nodded your head, making a vague sound of acknowledgement, because you didn’t want to let him down, or let him know that you were a classic student who hadn’t read any of the assigned texts yet, and was planning on doing it the week before the final essay was due.

“So, let’s say, every question you get wrong will be a strike.” Talk about corporal punishment. “And every question you get right will be a…well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He said with a little chuckle. “Let ya get one right to begin with, shall we?”

You hated how cocky and sure of himself he sounded, though not nearly as much as you hated your dick for responding so quickly to the threat of being caned over fucking sociology questions.

And everyone said that university was going to be boring.

“Let’s start out easy. In contemporary societies, social institutions are?” He asked, obviously wanting you to finish the sentence.

“Pardon?” Then again you were never any good at reading even the obvious situations.

“Sociology by Fulcher and Scott, an assigned reading on your list, define social institutions in contemporary societies as what, Mr Pot?” Mr Niccals sounded a little more agitated as he repeated his explanation, and you made a mental note to pay more attention to his next question.

“Er…they’re, like, more basic? Cus it’s simpler and-”

Your answer was cut off though when he brought the ruler down, hard and sharp, on your bare thigh. You let out a loud cry of pain, lurching forward on his desk, gripping anything you could find just to distract until the initial pain would subside. So that’s what he meant by a strike.

“They’re specialized. The institutions have to regulate around contexts of social life. Education, family, religion, and so on and so forth. Sweet Satan, you’d know that just by openin’ the bloomin’ book!”

You made a small, defeated noise at the back of your throat, nodding your head and trying to relax against the hard desk underneath you, despite the tension now running through your body, ready to prepare for the next strike.

He flicked through his book again for a few seconds, stopping on a new section.

“Same book, referenced in pages 187-188. Queer theory makes the claim that…?”

You racked your brain for answers, trying to remember the one time you’d skimmed the book, and stopped on sections about gay history and theory.

Come on, come on, an answer, any answer.

“That the idea of sexuality in general is fluid, 'n’ not defined. Like straight stuff shouldn’t be the norm, cus the whole norm in general is always bein’ replaced for somethin’ else.”

Your body flinched in preparation for the strike, but it received nothing. Mr Niccals stepped back towards his desk, and went into his draw for something new, an unseen, impressed smile on his face.

“A good answer.” He said, his voice suddenly somewhat light, clearly satisfied with your response. “Needs work, of course, ya wouldn’t get away with writin’ that on a final exam, but well thought out.”

In your peripheral vision, you could see a blacked out tattoo of an octopus on his forearm, the tentacles winding up his elbow, lacing his dark skin with ink, and you felt your heart clench with delight.

“T-Thank you, Sir.” You mumbled with an uneasy smile.  

You were unsure of what he was up to at this point, but he tugged down your briefs down to join your trousers round your knees, gently coaxing your legs open. You let a shaky little sigh feeling him touch you so intimately, your body shaking underneath him.

“You seem to have a good understanding of sexuality theory though.” He crooned softly, and you felt something ease inside you, sudden cold and then slow and gentle pressure against the little bundle of nerves deep inside of you. A dildo or a vibrator or something. “Any reasonin’ behind that?”

“J-Just something I like.” You said, your voice shaking ever so slightly. “Makes sense to me. Feels normal.”

He made a sound of agreement and sat back down at his desk. But you kept your eyes forward, because he had told you to.

“Let’s stay on that then, shall we?” Boots up on the desk again. “How did the sexual revolution of the 1960’s positively influence the Gay Man’s Health Crisis?”

You let out a steady sigh, but you knew this one. You wouldn’t get another strike if he let you stay on this topic.

“It didn’t.” You said. “Like, there was sexual freedom, but it wasn’t until the eighties that it affected anyone with HIV and AIDS and…like, other STI’s and shit.”

Suddenly, the vibrator (and it was a vibrator, it turned out) in your ass turned onto a steady low speed, buzzing against your prostate. The surprise of it was enough to throw you off your train of thought and all you could do was moan out in pure ecstasy, pressing your head against the desk, grasping for anything you could.

Mr Niccals smirked down at you, and you could see that he was holding a small white control in his hand, his thumb hovering over one of the buttons on it, clearly the control for the vibrator.

“Well done, Mr Pot. I underestimated you, it seems.” He said, the humour in his face almost making him sound disingenuous, in a warped kind of way.

You felt proud of yourself though, mostly just because it gave you an opportunity to feel smug. Because you weren’t just some idiot  who barely paid attention in lectures and classes. Though he needn’t know that you only picked that book up once or twice, and it mostly served as a coaster on your desk back at home.

What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him you supposed.

You carried on like that for what felt like hours, him dragging out questions, you answering them, and then him turning up the vibrator to another gruelling speed.

It was fine at first, satisfying without being too much to handle, but as the vibrations became more fast and intense against your prostate, you grew restless and desperate for climax that you wouldn’t achieve with just the vibrator alone.

Mr Niccals seemed completely disinterested though, flipping through the book and turning up the vibrator at whim, watching you react to each new speed with sick delight in his eyes as you twisted and trembled, as if you pinned down without any kind of restraint needed.

But eventually, it got too much.

“Sir…”

“Close?” Still looking at his book, barely acknowledging you.

You desperately nodded your head, and your hips jutted hard against the desk when the vibrator turned up again, letting out a weak cry, the intense pleasure suddenly feeling so close to pain it was starting to become unbearable.

“Hurtin’. Please, I need it.”

“One more question.” He said, and his smile looked harsh and cruel. You let out a long groan, pressing your forehead against  the desk. You hated how long he was drawing this out for, feeling like gruelling hours, as if you were barely able to pull through because of how exhausting it was.

“Referenced in page 160, Nancy Chodorow, 1978, argued that gender socialization is caused by…what, exactly?”

And of course the last question was something you barely looked at in the book.

You racked your brain, thinking about all the words that blurred together into mush in your head since you had studied it, trying to pick something out, something that made sense, something that could be an answer that Mr Niccals would accept.

“It’s t'do with mum’s.” You mumbled, your body too exhausted to move anymore. Please. Just something. “Kids are close to their mums but boys break away more than girls do, learn shit from dads and friends, 'n’ shit.”

The vibrator turned up to its highest setting, and it almost made you scream, the intensity suddenly being too much to handle, and you came hard against the desk, shamelessly spattering against the wood.

It took a few moments to come to properly, and when you did your body felt worn out and your head was heavy and dull, duller than usual at least.

Mr Niccals eased the vibrator out of you, chuckled when you winced, putting it back into the drawer where it was before (for some reason that you definitely weren’t going to ask about.)

“Untouched, eh?” He said with an amused smile. Your cheeks starting burning again, and you hurried to pull your trousers back up. “You continue to surprise me, Mr Pot.”

“Thank you, Sir.” You mumbled, and he nodded.

“Alright then, piss off. You been here long enough.”

You rushed to get your bag from under your desk, slinging it over your shoulder and shoving your stuff back into it.

“Oh, and Stuart.” He said, alerting you before you had the chance to leave. You glanced back over at him. “At least have read the book next time you piss about in one of my lessons, alright?”

You nodded dumbly and he made a shooing motion with his hand, turning back to his own book.

“Fuck off then. See ya next week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is unrealistic cus uni is incredibly boring and i've never had anyone hot lecture me about sociology (which would be weird. since i'm a drama student)
> 
> tryna do a triple update today cus tomorrow's one won't be huge but who knows. i'm already worn out from this one lmao. also the second msi song for the title in 11 chapters. i am a true scene kid at this point
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	12. Choke Chain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 12: asphyixiation  
> second person, from 2D's perspective

The chain was loose around your neck, since there was no reason for it to be tight, yet at least. Though the looming threat of it was present by the way he held it, and the way he watched you so closely, like a predator playing with his prey.

He liked seeing you under his feet, helpless and desperate for anything that he wanted to give you, if he even gave you anything at all. That was the beauty of it all. Sometimes he did all of this without getting you off, even without getting off himself. Like it was just a joke to him.

When he pressed his foot down against your chest, your breath hitched in your throat and when he tugged on the choke chain, it forced it even further and made your gut lurch, desperate to get used to this uncomfortable pressure and tightness on your body.

He was pushing every single of your limits and he enjoyed to. If it was because he was bored or just to fulfill some kind of sick fantasy of his you didn't know, but it was useless trying to question his methods at this point. It seemed the way your body responded to each harsh touch was doing nothing to discourage him either. If anything, it forced him harder, as he stayed determined to push you over that fine edge, make you tell him to stop. Just so that he could keep going.

So you didn't tell him to stop.

You never did.

Which only encouraged him to push you even harder. 

He pulled harder at the chain, the cold metal getting tighter against your skin, and your were suddenly hyperaware of how quickly your chest rose and fell, taking in desperate little breaths each time he pressed down on you, his heavy boot inching down your stomach and ever closer to your crotch with each second.

You were so shamelessly hard, and he could see your dick twitching uselessly against your belly, smirking evilly as he pressed the sole of his boot down on your erection.

You gasped out, the intense pressure hurting in a wonderfully delicious way. Heavy drips of pre-cum smeared against your belly, and you whined and whimpered at how ignored you felt, lying on cold concrete, as if you were just a plaything for him.

He pressed down harder on your dick, almost grinding his heel down onto you, and pulling hard on the chain, so the metal was at it’s tightest.

"Why don't you say it?"

His words would almost sound affectionate, if it wasn't for the chain grasped so tightly in his hand, standing above you, as you were almost blue in the face from the tight choking hold. 

"I won't be angry. I promise."

Your hands are shaking, when you swallow your adam's apple bobs uncomfortably against the tight collar. Eyes were starting to water. Dick aching.

"You can say it if you need to."

He knelt down to your level, the pressure suddenly off of your erection, a gentle hand on your cheek, stroking down to your neck and if you could have breathed properly, it would have relaxed you, calmed you down. 

"You're so good."

But you couldn't, and the grip of the chain was unrelenting, keeping your breath hitched and forced. Uncomfortably tight. Long fingers wrap around your neck and a thumb presses down, hard, on your windpipe, and it's becoming too much to handle too quickly.

"Say something."

You don't. Because if you did you could slip up, say something stupid and it would stop. 

Better to be silent.

He pushed you back against the floor, the chain quickly forgotten and his hands tight around your neck, choking, squeezing, sharp nails leaving red groves on your skin that you'd have to cover in the morning. Your head was spinning, body twitching underneath him. You couldn't hear yourself think, let alone understand what you were saying. Whatever it was, he frowned, squeezing tighter. 

He's quiet suddenly though, which made the whole act feel even harsher and made you feel even worse.

The cuts on your chest from before throbbed with pain, and it hurt unbearably so. Your head was light, you're dizzy, he was pushing you harder than he usually did. You couldn't say anything, not properly, all that came out was raspy breaths and gasps instead of words. He scowled and gripped tighter, an intense burning in his eyes as he straddled you.

You reached out to touch him, hands still as shaky as ever, and he let you, without any kind of acknowledgement though.

"Tell me to stop." He snarled.

And perhaps you couldn't find your voice, perhaps you couldn't think quick enough to respond the way he wanted when your mind was so foggy, perhaps even though it hurt so much, this was the closest he'd been to you in days and you didn't want it to stop.

You didn't want it to stop.

How twisted. 

Your lack of an answer obviously wasn't good enough for him, and he's clenching so hard now, you could feel your eyes roll back. Drool leaked down your chin involuntarily, and you clasped round his wrists, trying to wrench him back, not to stop it, no, but just to make it less tight, so you didn't pass out so soon. 

"Tell me to fuckin' stop, Stuart!" He was practically shouting at you now, wringing your neck, shaking you apart, making your brain rattle inside your head. 

But you eventually found your voice again.

"Please don't stop."

Your voice felt thick on your tongue, husked and rasped, and it's a strain to even say anything at all. It hurt, hurt so much it almost made your eyes water, but the grip around your throat loosened a little, only slightly, though you still couldn't focus on him at all.

_ "Don't stop. _

_ Don't stop touching me. _

_ I love it. _

_ You make me so hard. _

_ I love you. _

_ I love you so much. _

_ I'll do whatever you want. _

_ Don't stop." _

And for some reason, that's what made him let you go.

He stared at you, long and hard, and you would have given anything to be able to look into his head, just for a minute, just to see what he was thinking, what he was feeling. 

But you couldn't. He was as unreadable as ever, perhaps even moreso now than usual.

You stayed like that for a few more moments, looking at each other, as if both of you were trying to work the other out, before he stood up, in silence, and left you alone, to deal with yourself, like he so often did.

Your dick was still aching, because you were you and you responded to any kind of attention, no matter how negative and borderline dangerous it was, so you gripped it tight, jerking yourself off, with images of him on your mind.

Him fucking you so hard, so fast you cried.

Him jerking you off at the back of the tour bus and making you stay quiet so no-one woke up.

Him pushing you down to your knees outside of venues while he smoked and fucking your face without even paying attention to you.

Him letting you fuck him, a collar hanging heavy around your neck, a leash in his hand so he could make you force in harder, go faster, always at his mercy.

Pulled at the choke chain and it dug harder into the little bruises that were already forming around your neck. It felt good, but not nearly as good as when he did it so mercilessly. You were always hesitant for some reason, could never find it in yourself to go as rough as he did. 

Came with his name on your lips, in your head. All over your fingers. You sucked it off because you couldn't be bothered to clean yourself up properly. Just sort of sat there for a bit, lost inside your own brain, trying to work out what had happened and why everything had changed so quickly.

The next morning, he didn't come upstairs for recording, and you picked something out with a high neck to hide the bruises.

Not even a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this just made me think of the toys g-bite. the truth is everyone just likes chokin 2D out. free him from this torment
> 
> depression's kickin my butt this weekend lads but i'll try n do another update today. next prompt is a kink i lurve so hopefully it'll be easier than this one
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	13. Hello Nurse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 13: medical  
> second person, from 2D's perspective. contains slight medical negligence and vomiting

You’d had a meltdown.

At least you thought you had. Something that was enough to make you pass out, though that wasn’t exactly uncommon, especially after the second crash.

It must have barely been two months since you’d woken up again, and you hadn’t been allowed to go back to the keyboard shop with your uncle until you finished all of your physical therapy, your councillor visits, your check ups, et cetera.

Murdoc still had a few hours left on his community service with you, so most of the time you’d travel down from Crawley and hang about in his flat, playing music together, smoking to access despite the warnings about it on your medication and, er, a few more interactions that perhaps wouldn’t count as community service to most people.

But you were getting ahead of yourself.

You’d had a melt down, and you had woken up staring at crudely painted pentagram on the ceiling.

Ah. Still in Murdoc’s flat. He hadn’t thought to ring your mum or the hospital or anything. Probably a better decision, since meltdowns weren’t exactly few and far between with you. You had almost gotten used to them at this point so late in your recovery.

Though when you tried to stretch your arms out, and give your aching joints some sort of relief, your wrist got caught on a sharp metal cuff. You glanced over at the bed knobs and saw shiny silver handcuffs securing you tight to the headboard, as if you were strapped to a gurney. Maybe you’d been restless before passing out, agitated and fidgety, needed to be secured down for your own safety. You could hear that nurse’s voice ringing loud and clear in your head again and it made you shudder. Though maybe Murdoc just had a particularly sick sense of humour, and with all things considered, that was probably the most likely option.

“Oi, Murdoc!” You called out, trying to project your voice out of the door and into the rest of the flat, wherever he may have been. “I gotta take my painkillers, can ya let me up?” No response, of course. You let out an irritated groan, pulling hard at the cuffs. “C'mon mate, my head’s really hurtin’ ‘n’ my mum’s gonna flip her shit at me if i I miss another dose!”

Still nothing.

What a twat.

Was he even still in the flat? Had he gotten bored of waiting for you to wake up and decided to go crash his car into another keyboard shop, fuck up someone else’s life? You had no idea, and you were sure that had been done on purpose, as a way for him to get under your skin even more.

And God, fuck, your head was hurting.

You tried to lean back against the pillows, keep your breathing steady to try and dull the pain even if it was just a little bit better.

Just breath in and out, Stuart.

Don’t lose your head.

Keep calm.

All those little sayings and phrases that your councillor made you repeat, so she knew you were, at least, trying to pay attention.

But the pain quickly became unbearable, pounding inside your head, tearing it apart. You were even starting to feel a little sick because of it, without anything to focus on other than your churning gut. Your body clenched tightly and you tried to press your face into your shoulder, shroud out any kind of light and submerge yourself in darkness where the pain could be slightly easier to manage.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate, you’d think you were dyin’ by the way you over perform.”

When you looked up again, Murdoc was stood over the bed, staring down on you, both your pill bottles and the box with the diamorphine needle inside it in his hands, which he placed down on the bedside table.

“Somehow I don’t think you’re going to die if you’re ten minutes late on your pills.”

He was dressed in what looked like a nurse outfit, white adorned with red accents, little crosses, nothing like Mum’s uniform for the hospital. Something sold on Halloween or for fetishists to wank off to without the idea of disturbing actual workers during a busy shift. His heavy army boots somewhat ruined the illusion, though it did make the whole thing suit him much more.

He was quick to straddle you, knees either side of your hips, sitting on your thighs and effectively pinning you down. He took a pair of black latex gloves that he had stored in the tiny pocket of the dress and tugged them on, the satisfying snap of the latex being enough to make you tremble. The hem of the dress was starting to ride up as well, exposing the strings of a black thong that were doing absolutely nothing to hide his quickly growing erection.

He stared down at you, a wild grin on his face, pressing his hands against your chest, fists clenching in the material of your shirt. “What’s with that face, eh? Almost looks like you’re not happy to see me.”

“What the fuck are you playin’ at?” And maybe he looked a little disappointed that you weren’t going to play along.

“Well.” He started, looking absent minded and almost innocent. “Ya see, I’m still lookin’ after you, aren’t I? Community service and what have you. So I thought, ya know, since you’re crap at medicating yourself alone.” Your cheeks started burning, and you glared hard at him. He simply smiled. “Very cute. Anyway, I just thought it would be easier if ya had someone to. Help. So to speak.”

You glanced away quickly, trying not to pay attention to the pounding in your head and the fact that your palms were getting sweaty and your body was quickly overheating against him. “Fuck off. Don’t need your help.”

“Ohhh, but I think you do.” He practically purred and griped your faces in one hand, squeezing, making you look at him. “I think you’re more helpless than you realize, 'Dents. 'Sides.” He smirked, his face close to your’s now. “You want your pills, don’t you?” You nodded hesitantly. “Well, you’re going to have to cooperate with me, okay? Like a good little patient, just for me.”

And you could do nothing but agree with him.

Murdoc let go of your face and reached over you to pick up your prescription from the bedside table, reading the label on the side of the orange bottle, the little white pills bouncing about inside like a rattle.

Your mum had gotten the prescription just for you, she said, and she’d organized with the hospital where she worked for you to get a new bottle of medication every week with her instructions. Codeine to start with, to treat the concussion, diamorphine injections to be administered every two weeks, by yourself as well, morphine pills to fight off any sickness side effects. A codeine dose every four hours, morphine before you fell asleep. That’s what she’d told you.

“Lets see, lets see…” He mumbled to himself, one hand going to gently stroke down your exposed stomach idly, over the lines of hair on your stomach, and the cool touch made you flinch, pulling hard at the handcuffs. “Ah! Here we are! Recommended dosage. Says here no more than two pills every four hours…seek advice from your doctor if the pain continues for more than a week. Well, fat lotta good that is, ennit?” Stroking down further to gently grip at your dick through your jeans, making you jump.

He frowned as he kept reading and stopped touching you, opening up the bottle, easily clicking through the child proof lid that always managed to outsmart you. “I think that this might be a special exception to that rule, wouldn’t you agree?”

He shook two pills out onto his palm, the stark white contrasting against the black latex, looking almost like tiny pearls. Your hands shook against the metal handcuffs, and the pounding in your head was starting to hurt uncomfortably so. Your body lurched forward in a desperate attempt to get the pills for yourself, but he stayed just out of reach of you, giving you an amused look when you kept pulling at your restraints.

“Murdoc, please.” You whined, in a needy pathetic way that made him grin. “Jus’ give 'em. Need my pills.”

“Oh, I know.” He said, putting the pill bottle back down, far away from you. “Just makin’ sure ya don’t dose yourself up too much like last time, aren’t I?”

Your cheeks burned hot with embarrassment, knowing that he was right. “That was an accident.” You mumbled, not daring to to make eye contact with him when he was this smug. “It wouldn’t stop hurtin’ though. Honest, I wouldn’t 'ave done it if it didn’t hurt so much.”

“Shhh, sh, I know.” He cooed, his voice soft, leaning forward to stroke gently down your cheek, his touch almost feeling cold against your burning skin. “That’s why I’m here to take care of you, isn’t it?” You let out a shuddery little breath as he touched you, and even his typical twisted affection seemed increasingly intimate when you were in this state. “Your own special nurse. Aren’t you a lucky boy?”

Your mind was heavily thumping and burning which crowded every other sense that you had, including any kind of common sense, and made his obvious ulterior motives blur into non existence, so you were able to ignore everything inside you that was telling you this was a bad idea and just concentrate on getting your pills.

His hand slipped from your cheek down to your chin, gently cradling it and pressing a thumb against your bottom lip. Your lips parted and you instinctively go to lap at the black latex.

He let out a soft chuckle, and goes to pinch your tongue gently with his thumb and forefinger, pulling it further past your lips, almost down your chin. Drool was already starting to messily soak his fingers.

“Ready for your medicine, Mr Pot?” He asked, and you nodded your head desperately, as much as you could anyway. He let out an appreciative little hum, delicately placing the two pills on your tongue, and let go of you, allowing you to swallow them down on your own accord.

Because you were allowed to do that yourself, it seemed.

He brought his lips to yours in a hard kiss, sucking and biting at your bottom lip, bruising so easily. In the midst of all the action, your dick was pressed uncomfortably tightly against your jeans, making you moan out loudly, desperate to try and get Murdoc’s attention, though to no avail of course. He always liked getting you wound up just to ignore you.

But he scooted forwards, ever so slightly, pressing his crotch against your’s and you practically saw stars with the way he rocked his hips hard against your own, adding even more friction between the two of you, and you pulled hard at your cuffs to try and get more.

The pills were making your stomach flip, as was typically expected whenever you took a dose of codeine, and you felt a sudden sickness wash over you, in placement of the pounding headache. You were still sweaty and panting, too hot underneath your clothes, desperate for some kind air or breeze on your body, on your skin, would stand outside naked if that would give you any kind of relief. But you kept still, kissing hungrily, still ever eager.

He pulled back eventually, hands going down to unbutton your jeans, unzip them, tug down your boxers and free your straining erection. He smirked up at you, sly and devilish, gripping you tight and slowly jerking you off.

You let out a steady little gasp, thrusting your hips up into his grip, relief washing over you, despite how hot and sick your body felt.

He let go again, kneeling up and threading his thumbs against the string of the thong, tugging it down with ease, exposing himself just for you. He grinned as you watched, and brought his face close to your’s again, so close that you were sure he could feel the heat radiating from you.

“Guess who’s already lubed up.” He whispered, so quiet that his voice was barely there, and he’s pressing his hips back, letting you feel his wet hole against the head of your dick, and it’s too fucking much to handle all it once but, of course, he pushed you further, aligning himself with you completely, and your dick pushed into him with such little resistance that it’s enough to make you lose it.

He told you to go harder, faster, fuck me, like a mantra on his lips, slurring between dirty little chuckles, his lovely little vocal tics, and you wished that your hands were free so you could pin him down and fuck him the way you wanted, pushing the dress up, kissing down his chest, maybe tie him up a little because you knew how much he liked it, though of course he’d say he didn’t.

He took you deeper and deeper, suddenly down to your base and he’s bouncing on your dick so easily, like he’d practiced just for you, and you’re whining and moaning out how close you are to cumming, though that’s not the only thing stewing inside of you. Heat in your loins building up, driving you completely fucking wild, but the churning in your stomach hasn’t stopped and it frightens you how close you are to two things, one that you would never admit to.

He’s gripping hard on your shirt, taking you deep and fast, so hard, and you can tell he’s close by the way his dick leaks, the pre-cum dripping off of his piercing, so fucking beautiful you’d be more than happy to only see that image for the rest of your life.

He cummed hard, throwing his head back with a long whine, the cum spattering up his dress, staining it and rendering the outfit unusable for anything outside of ridiculously kinky sex. No sense in wasting the opportunity.

Like some kind of sick joke, you heaved hard and vomited down his front just as you came inside him, and you don’t know if he realizes it yet or not by the way he moans from the act.

After for a few seconds, he looked back up at you, and you don’t know how awful you must have looked in that moment, but he gave you a tired smile all the same, easing you out of him.

“Y'alright?” He asked, his voice soft and gentle, and you nodded. “Think you’re gonna have to take another dosage, ya know.” You nodded again, swallowing hard, and the taste of bile on your tongue makes you shudder.

He leaned up to unlock your handcuffs, giving the harsh little marks affectionate strokes and stroking through your hair, as if he was calming you down from your sudden sickness. You sniffed and wiped the sweat from your forehead off with the back of your hand.

“Ya smell like arse, by the way.” He said, and it made you laugh, despite the soreness in your throat. “Can’t say much. I must do as well.”

“Sorry…” You mumbled, and he shrugged his shoulders sympathetically.

“No harm no foul. Must be a pretty shit nurse at this point.”

“Nah. I done worse to nurses in my time. And there wasn’t something so nice before it either.”

“You’re sweet. But you still stink.”

“I know.”

You lay like that for a while, tangled in each others grip, before he decided to go shower the smell of bile off of himself, and you needed to take another dose of pills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> isn't murdoc a licensed doctor anyway
> 
> someone on tumblr requested medical kink with murdoc takin care of 2D after the second crash n i think i got a little carried away.......to say the least
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	14. Interrupted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 14: sensory deprivation  
> second person, shifted perspective, regular text is 2D, bold text is murdoc

**He never resisted. That’s what always took you aback.  
**

**When you told him to strip. When you pushed him back against the bed without explaining yourself. When you’d gotten all your toys out for him to see.  
Of course the ropes were typical for your kind of games, so it was something he’d come to expect. Didn’t even flinch when you pulled the blindfold on, pressed the ring gag between his teeth just to shut him up, to stop his babbling and his questions.**

**And though it was unorthodox and something he’d never even gotten the chance to get used to before, he still didn’t resist when you pressed the plugs into his ears, blocking out any sound, shutting him off from the rest of the world.**

Maybe you expected to be a little more freaked out, essentially being reduced down to relying on touch alone, with sight and sound having been robbed from you, but at this point, it was just another day, another ridiculous game that you’d have to get used to. 

The metal ring that had been forced between your teeth made your jaw ache. Arms stretched out above your head, tied tight to the metal head board, rough and coarse rope decorated your wrists, digging into your skin almost uncomfortably, harsher when you pulled at it. Should probably stop trying to pull yourself free. It never worked in your experience.

So here you were, left at the mercy of whoever wanted to touch you, fuck you, play with you to their heart’s content or, perhaps, simply just leave you, stewing inside your own head, letting your brain deteriorate from the inside out until you were so mindless you could barely speak, barely move, just to get fucked without the word no.

Christ, if that wasn’t a scary thought, you didn’t know what was.

Come on, Stuart, stop trying to freak yourself out.

What was that phrase that people always said again?

When you lost one sense, the others were heightened, or something like that.

Yeah, that was it.

When one sense was taken from you, every other sense went into overdrive to try and make up for what the other was lacking. That’s why deaf or blind people were always good at telling what vibrations meant what, whether they were in danger or if it was just someone walking past them. Shit like that.

And hey, you were missing two senses. Perhaps you’d come out of this thing with superhuman like abilities, like Superman or Spiderman or something.

Always look on the bright side of things.

Plus it wasn’t as if a stranger had done this to you after all. You weren’t in a dangerous place, you weren’t in particularly malicious hands

Though it did feel like that sometimes.

**You had to admit, the sicker, twisted part of you, that honestly became bigger as each day passed, liked seeing him like this when you were done, standing over him.**

**Stretched out for you, completely clueless to his surroundings, though still vaguely receptive enough to pull at the restraints that bound him, react to any noise that he thought he heard, despite the plugs blocking everything out, make helpless little noises around the metal between his teeth. You liked seeing him twist against the ropes, gnaw on the ring gag, trying to make sense of it, work it all out in that pretty head of his, though to no avail, of course. You were always difficult to work out.**

**It was as if he were a sex doll, though not quite as unresponsive or conventionally attractive. As if he were asleep, though not as disgustingly non consensual.**

**You almost wondered what would happen if you did leave him like that, all alone. Just to go have a cigarette, do a bit of recording perhaps, make some of those phone calls that you had been putting off, just to see what would happen. Maybe plug his ass, put a cock ring on him so he knew your presence was still there, so he would still have him on your mind as he stewed in pitch black silence.**

**His dick was already hard though, foreskin pulled back, head flushed and slit smearing pre-cum on his stomach and the sight of it almost made you smile. He was always so easy to please, so quick to get off on all of your attention, no matter how twisted you thought it was.  
He adored you so, worshiped and loved you, it was as if he never thought you would do anything that would hurt him.**

**Almost made you feel bad when you actually did.** **  
**

**Almost.**

Rough hands easily forced your legs apart, quickly distracting you from your thoughts, and you flinched against the sudden touch. Cold lube was spread over your hole, made you squirm against the grip, a heavy metal plug was eased inside you and you let out a groan against the ring (or at least you assumed you did, what with the lack of hearing and all.)

Same hands started to toy with your dick, obviously deciding to take some kind of pity on you, and your hips bucked desperately for any kind of relief. You were gripped tight with long, slow pulls, up and down, just to reel you up. It was working, of course, because you were predictable and desperate for it. Even responding the same way to flicks and playful slaps at the sensitive head, though it made you squeal. A thick cock ring was then pulled down your dick, stretched tight and secured around you, and you were practically seeing stars already.

Wanted to keep you hard, dely any satisfaction but make sure you were ready for it when it came, it seemed. 

You’re desperate for any kind of touch though, so of course you took it without a second thought, without even having to question it. 

You just hoped that your efforts and good behaviour would be rewarded at the end of all of this, because lord knows you deserved it, even just the smallest touch, you must have deserved something. You were so good, after all. Never resisting, never putting up a fight, always doing as you were told, even without any looming threat being held above your head. 

Always so good.

**He started shaking underneath your touch, whimpering and whining and you thanked yourself for choosing the ring gag over anything else so that those lovely noises of his weren’t muffled.**

**And, oh, perhaps you didn’t have the heart to just leave him like that. You couldn’t possibly be so cruel when he looked so helpless. Straddle him and jerk off in his face was something you could manage though, maybe stick your dick past that ring and fuck his mouth as he was left clueless beneath you sounded even more appealing.**

**Maybe you could just play with his dick more, stroking him off, teasing the head until he begged wordlessly through the metal because it felt so much more intense when he couldn’t see or hear.  
Alternatively, you could always get someone else to do it, though you were never exactly fond of that method. Always felt other people’s methods were lacking, uncreative, cliche in a way. You weren’t one for watching other people play with your front man.  **

**Though it was appealing in a weird sort of way, especially when he was so clueless and deprived of any sight or sound. Really, he had no way of knowing that it wasn’t you, would react just the same either way.  
Alright, you were starting to make yourself a little sick at this point.   
No, just leave him be, calm yourself down.**

The touch was gone as quickly as it came and you were left in your own head again, undisturbed.

Everything inside of you was initially screaming at you to panic, and you did. Pulled hard at your ropes, called for anyone against your gag, anyone who would hear you, listen to you, but to no avail of course. 

Outside of the Winnie, outside of the car park, it may have well have been that you didn’t even exist.

Eventually, your mind calmed down, and softer thoughts were brought up, thoughts that didn’t even connect to what you were doing, though the dull feelings of the plug in your ass and the ring at the base of your dick were still there.

Was Murdoc even still there?  
Was he just watching you?  
Probably just gone for a fag.  
Maybe he was recording.  
You should be recording.  
When’s the next collaborator coming in?

Thoughts like that started to spiral your brain, and delved even deeper than that.

Is this normal?  
Normal people didn’t have sex like this, did they?  
Or maybe they did?  
When was the last time it was just boring old missionary position with the lights out and full of hushed “I love you”’s?  
Had it ever been like that?  
Did you even want it like that?  
Had this become so normal to you that any kind of “normal” sex wouldn’t even be worth your time?

You weren’t too sure of yourself anymore. Those questions playing on your brain were starting to make this whole “sensory deprivation” thing a bit uncomfortable, as if your own head was trying to force yourself to tackle all these problems that you had been ignoring.

Why did you think this was normal?  
Why did he do all of these things to you?  
Was he still upset you’d left?  
Was he holding onto those feelings, and he didn’t want to let go of them, couldn’t let go of them, couldn’t talk about them?  
Did he even love you anymore, at least in the way that you still loved him

You’re shaking from something other than the dull ache in your joints at that point, and your body quickly became wracked with gentle, silent sobs

**He was oddly still when you got back from your extensive fag break.**

**When you stroked him, he almost shied away from your touch, not responding the way he usually did, and you sort of wondered what had gotten into him.**

**Even when you took him into your mouth, trying to get him off as a reward for being so eager to please and receptive, in an effort to make things go the way they normally did, he was weirdly silent, almost barely moving.**

**You were slightly worried that he’d nodded off, something you wouldn’t exactly surprise you, so you leaned up to take his blindfold off, just to make sure he was still awake.**

**He looked up at you with weary, tired eyes, and it made your heart clench uncomfortably tight.**

**You couldn’t keep going, not when he was like this.**

**You weren’t that cruel.**

**You unbuckled the gag behind his head and gently removed the plugs from his ears, your hands delicate. Even untied his wrists so he could move or leave if he wanted. Though he stayed still.**

**“What’s wrong with you?” You asked, though you sounded much rougher than you wanted to.**

**“Sorry.” He mumbled, wiping streaky tears from his eyes. “I know you’re still angry at me, for leavin’.”**

**Oh.**

**“But I didn’t want to.” He looked at you then, a level of desperation in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “I really didn’t. Had nowhere else to go.” He was close to tears again. You could tell, he’d cried for you before. “I missed ya. I really did, everyday I thought about ya. None of it meant nothin’ to me, without you there.”**

**Oh sweet merciful Satan.**

**“I love you. I really do, Murdoc, I promise.” Tears were coming now. “Do you even love me anymore?”**

**And of course you did. You loved him so much it hurt to think about. Loved him so much that he would probably never understand it.**

**“I just want it to be like before. What it used to be like. What do I have t'do to make it be like that again, Murdoc? I’ll do anything, I swear.”**

**And of course because you were the biggest asshole this side of England, you didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything to comfort him as he sobbed.**

**“Please just tell me.  
Please.  
I love you so much.  
I’m so sorry.”**

**If you’d been a braver man, you would have told him how sorry you were as well, kissed him and held him, told him not to cry, told him you were there for him, whatever he needed you’d do for him.**

**But you weren’t a brave man.**

**If anything, you were a fucking spineless coward.**

**Just for hurting him like that.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol this got heavy real quick
> 
> this prompt got me stumped and i figured that people must think a lot in sensory deprivation tanks n therpy like that n shit so.........2D overthinkin everything as always
> 
> ALSO WE MADE IT TO 1K HITS IN BARELY TWO WEEKS!!! THANX UR ALL THE BOMB
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	15. Lucky Rabbit's Foot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 15: knives/weapons  
> second person, from 2D's perspective, alternate universe
> 
> tw: animal death, religious themes

When you thought about it, like thought really hard, properly, every town had it's own little story. 

That was essentially the first rule of living in a small town, particularly one out of the way and in the middle of a tiny place like Crawley, where you had to travel an hour to get anywhere interesting, and the most action you got was when some old bloke wandered into the river when he got drunk and accidently drowned every ten or so years. You had to have a local myth, a wonder, an urban legend, a solid story. Something that would occupy and excite bored school children for a few days and spread around until it faded into obscurity.

Sometimes that story was just a new hot piece of middle-class mum level gossip, particularly if it was a sexual scandal involving someone important or rich in the town. Like "oh, did you hear so-and-so found her husband sleeping with the gardener in the greenhouse right next to their award winning roses?”

Sometimes that story got a little darker, though ridiculously over the top, something to spook scouts around campfires and primary school kids with when they misbehaved. Like "oh, just so you know, fifteen years ago, a preschool teacher was brutally murdered just ten minutes before her first lesson, and all the little kids found her mangled corpse? It’s true, it was in the papers!” though of course, it was never actually in the papers.

But sometimes, that story got stranger, specific, and more sinister, and became something quite unbelieveable. Like "oh, did you hear that a satanic cult meet at St. Mary's every time there’s a full moon and sacrifice innocent people in cold blood in the forest for their benevolent God?"

-

Today though, today was a regular Thursday morning for you, the grey skies were filled with clouds like usual, heavy with rain and threatening to pour out, and second period had just ended, which meant you, along with all the other students, could have a twenty minute break before shuffling to the next period. 

The younger high school students all quickly streamed out of their classrooms outside to socialise and chat with their friends, while the older sixth form students either walked into town to loiter or found a low-key area to smoke, where they wouldn't get caught by teachers, to pass the time.

You and your friends sat behind a crumbling old classroom block, smoking badly rolled cigarettes that you'd done underneath the desk during a boring lesson, while one of you played repetitive club music on his phone to fill the empty silence. You all wore the same uniform, grey trousers, blue blazer, white collared shirt and a scraggly tie with your school colours striped down it, though they were ill fitting and stained from age, having not been replaced for a good three years, at least in your case. 

While smoking wasn't allowed on your school grounds, you were all of age, being sixth form students and all, so it wasn't like you were doing something disgustingly illegal, though there was still a risk of a week of detention or a two day suspension if any of you were caught, but this made you all feel slightly rebellious and cool, like you were pseudo-anarchists or something, though of course, none of you would admit that to each other.

Your friends were engaged in the banter of the day (Lad, did you see Sophie in English today? Saw right up her skirt when she leant over, thong and all!) though you were little less connected to the sick banter, busy staring into space, a bit lost in your own imaginary world.

"And you know how I got with Alice the other week? Well, I-oi, Stu, you listenin' to me?"

You quickly snapped out of your mindless trance for a second to nod your head, taking another puff from your cigarette, which let the other boy continue on with his story about shagging his ex-girlfriend in a Tesco trolley bay.

Of course, you paid no attention to this story, instead concentrating on the smoke you exhaled with each drag drift and swirl above your head as it slowly phased out into the sky. Your friend's conversation served as nothing more than white noise in your head, filling a potion but not quite enough to be engaging, which was actually rather relaxing. And it wasn't like you were voluntarily tuning out your friends and not paying attention to their stories about getting smashed and shagging birds in car parks on purpose. You just found it hard to concentrate when they spoke. 

That was until Martin, a skinny, rattish looking boy with wild curly hair, and one of your better friends in the odd group, sad down by you and jabbed you hard in the ribs with his elbow. Which actually kind of hurt.

"Ey Keith, I don't think Tosspot's heard your story yet, mate."

"It's Pot." You said with a grimace, rubbing at the sore spot. "And I have, if it's that one about you shaggin' a bird behind Tesco."

Keith, a taller, bulkier lad who looked like he should have left school years ago, smirked and flicked away his cigarette ash. "It was the trolley bay actually, mate, but nah, I'm talkin' about how me an' a few lads from IT parked it down at St. Mary's the other night."

"...You what?"

"Stu, you bellend! You know what St. Mary's is!" Martin broke in. "Ya know, that weird church outside town that got abandoned back in the 70's."

"Apparently good ol' Reverend Jonathan was a poof." Ian, the one with the phone, finally spoke up with a snide chuckle. "Someone found 'im bummin' some lad in the confessional and t'council got it locked up right sharpish back then. Couldn't find another bloke to take the job so they just left it t'rot."

Keith snorted a little, like a pig, and wiped his nose with his hand. "Yeah, well, as I was sayin'. Me and a few other lads, yeah? We drove up there and camped in my car, cus my sister told me about a cult meetin' up there every week and sacrificing' shit." 

You remembered that Keith's sister was in primary school, so the notion of nineteen year olds believing a rumour spread by little kids seemed ridiculous, but Marin and Ian were hanging off every word, as if they actually believed the rumour themselves.

"Anyway." Keith continued. "We sat there for hours and hours, proper bored like, and maybe at about...midnight or somethin’, we saw a bunch of candle light and heard chantin’ an’ all that, and then, oh my god, I swear I heard a bird screamin’ bloody murder. Proper nearly shit myself and we legged it.” He finished with a satisfied smile, flicking away the butt of his cigarette.

“Shit…” Ian muttered, his music finally paused. “Y’think she’s dead?”

“Mate, it’s a cult! ‘Course she’s dead!” Martin said. “They probably burned her body too, t’get rid of any evidence. I’ve seen films about it, they never get caught either.”

You immediately let out an unattractive snort and started laughing, your body hunched over and your shoulders shaking. "That's a load of shit and you know it, mate." You said, between your giggles. “God, y’can’t actually believe this, can you? This is full on a plot from a shitty 60’s horror film or somethin’...”

Keith scowled a little, glaring roughly over at you.  "Oh, it's shit, is it? Alright then, Tosspot," He started, walking over to where you say and standing over you, a cocky, shit eating smirk on his face. "If you're as 'ard as you think you are, why don't you go down to ol’ St. Mary's and have a pootle round yourself then?"

"First, it's Pot." You said with a frown, standing up yourself, your height easily matching that of the older boy's. "And I ain't got nothin' t'prove, do I? No point in me goin' down there just t'prove you wrong."

“Yeah, alright then, fair enough. Sure it’s not jus’ cus you’re a massive pussy?”

"Yeah, you're well funny, mate, but I'm sure." You huffed, sitting back down on your crumbling piece of wall to try and properly finish your shitty cigarette before the bell rang.

Keith was quiet for a moment or two in silent thought, leaving Ian and Martin to look between the two of you, wondering how the argument was going to resolve.

“What if I give y’fifty quid?” Keith finally said, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets and breaking the uncomfortable silence.

You practically choked on your cigarette, coughing out the smoke and stubbing it out before you burnt yourself or something, looking back up at him, your eyes wide with disbelief. "Fuckin' what? Fifty?!"

Keith just nodded, like the pompous dickhead he was. “Just gotta go down to St. Mary’s and scope the place out. Simple as.”

Hesitating for a second or two, you stood up to your feet, nonchalantly flicking away your stubbed out cigarette butt before you looked back to Keith. "You're on." You said, offering your hand out with a disingenuous smirk. "Hope y'like bein' broke though."

“I like bein’ right more, lad, don’t worry.” Keith snickered, gripping your hand and shaking it firmly before the bell rang, and you all parted, leaving to go to their next classes.

-

You had rushed to your bike as soon as the bell alerting the end of the school day sounded, climbing on it and peddling down the roads that Martin had drawn out for you with a crude map that he'd doodled on a scrap of paper during Geography, showing you where St. Mary's was. 

You were determined to prove Keith wrong, get that fifty pounds that you deserved and wipe that shit-eating smirk off of his face.

He was always so sure of himself, always telling stupid little stories riddled with lies just as a way to entertain Martin and Ian, make them think he was some kind of sex machine with endless bravery and stories to tell, when he was just a liar and you were the only person who seemed to know that.

Whatever. You'd convince them otherwise and then they'd look at you the way they looked at Keith, knowing you were the honest one, knowing you were the one to listen to because your stories were never full of lies. And you were the brave one, the sex machine with the stories to tell.

And to be fair, they weren't, most of the time.

Just had to lie about who exactly you were shagging in your dad's car in the middle of the night sometimes.

When you eventually got to St. Mary's, you were fairly surprised to see that it was still standing, and not crumbling down to broken brick by the way that Keith talked about it. A once proud monument reduced down to a village obscurity though, forgotten by the masses and only vaguely interesting again now that sick rumours were going around amongst school children. You almost felt bad for the place. If you could feel bad for a building.

You jumped off of your bike, leaving your school bag swinging on the handles and walked around the miniscule graveyard, only some century old bodies having been left to rot alone by the church, some of the newer ones ripped up from the ground leaving dry patches of dirt among grass, and towards the church. A heavy metal chain adorned all the entrance doors, denying any chance of access to squatters or looters, which you could understand. 

It was still a sacred building after all.

Really, there wasn't anything spectacular about the place. A little run down, and the glass windows were stained with sun damage and bird shit. Weaving vines climbed high up the stone, showing the passage of time and the lack of care the church was getting due to its abandonment. You pulled at some of the leaves as you looked around the place, and really, you didn't understand what Keith had been so scared about. 

That was, of course, until you heard the shift of a heavy door, and foot steps against stone and grass.

You dived down against a heavy stone pillar, trying to peek where the noise had come from, and you saw a body move through the gravestones and to an woodland inning behind the church. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, and you tried to convince yourself that this didn't mean anything, and wasn't worth thinking about.

It was just a kid like you, trying to check the place for the rumour to be true.

It was just a contracter, perhaps, assessing whether or not they could tear down the church and use the land for something else.

It was just a relative paying respects to a forgotten ancestor among the graves.

Anything was a possibility.

But your curiosity got the best of you, no matter who it could have been, and you followed them into the inning, keeping your distance and ducking down into bushes and off the path whenever you thought they were going to turn back and find you stalking so close.

Eventually, the stranger stopped at a passage of trees and bushes surrounding a clearing of grass and dirt, and went to their knees, hunched over something with motivated focus.

When you moved closer, and was able to get a better look, you saw they were holding onto the trembling body of a brown woodland rabbit, dark skin and precise hands holding it delicately, stroking through the fur in a calming motion, as they muttered to themselves.

“Dies irae, dies illa

Solvet Saeclum in favilla

Teste Satan cum sibylla.

Quantos tremor est futurus”

Quickly, and without giving you a chance to prepare yourself first, they broke the neck of the rabbit with practised ease and cruel hands, and you almost gasped, but kept yourself silent, knowing any sound would alert them.

Once the rabbit was still, they went for a holster on their belt, unbuckling the leather and bringing out a golden dagger, that shined in the sunlight when it was brought out of its dark hiding. The knife went up to carve into the body of the rabbit, opening up its chest and allowing them to pull the rest of the body apart themselves.

Kneeling down among the bushes of the inning, you were disgustingly fascinated by the way they so effortlessly carved into the tiny body of the rabbit, seemingly unbothered by the blood that seeped onto their skin, dedicated and motivated entirely by the task at hand. They were still muttering to themselves, in a language you didn't understand, of course, a prayer or a chant of some sort, and they painted a sticky, bloody circle on the ground with their fingers, enveloping them and their brutal act completely.

They then tore roughly into the carcass, using the golden dagger occasionally to nick and tear at tough skin and muscle, cracking bones and ribs with their bare hands, so rough and forced, and they painted more lines and letters on the ground with the ever growing amount of blood on his hands, fingers to paint smaller characters around the circle, almost delicately, a harsh contrast to his violently brutal acts before.

You knelt up a little more over the bush, trying to make an attempt to see their face or the rest of their body that wasn’t so hunched over, but a sudden snapped twig under your knee alerted them, and their head whipped round to look in your direction, scanning where you were with frantic, almost worried eyes, as if they had been caught doing something terrible.

You ducked back down again quickly, trying to hide yourself among the grass and foliage, your heart racing a mile a minute and your chest pounding uncomfortably, your shot nerves shaking shivery little tremors through your body.

"Who's there?" A male voice demanded, standing to his feet over the body of the dead rabbit, over his bloody prayed circle, the golden knife held to his side threateningly, fingers covered with sticky blood. 

You kept silent, biting down hard on your bottom lip, almost at the level of splitting skin and bleeding, hoping to any fucking God who would listen to you that he wouldn't find you kneeling among the bushes.

_ “Please, please, please, don't look for me.  _

_ Don’t find me. _

_ I wasn't doing anything wrong. _

_ I won’t tell anyone. _

_ I promise.” _

"I heard you!" He shouted, voice echoing across the inning and making birds fly out of trees. "I fuckin' heard you! Show yourself, ya coward!"

You could feel your tics acting up, shaking little spasms making your body tremble viciously, almost close to tears. 

Suddenly that rumour that Keith was telling you so feverishly was loud inside your head. If he found you, he could kill you, might even do it just to prove a point, just because he could. No-one would even know. Your parents would eventually forget about you, your friends would barely remember you. You'd just be stupid boy who made a stupid mistake trying to find out if a stupid rumour was real or not.

You could hear his feet against the grass, taking heavy steps, getting closer to you, and you dug your fingers into your scalp, pulling at your hair, desperate to keep your tremors still, keep still, make sure he doesn't find you, for your own sake.

"Well, hello there."

But of course, because God hated your guts and wanted you dead, he found you anyway. 

You stayed curled up on the ground, not daring to look back, just to pretend he hadn't actually seen you. He chuckled gruffly, stepping around the bush and pressing on your tailbone with the tip of his boot, making you let out a tiny squeak through your bit lip.

"What're ya doin' in these neck of woods exactly, eh?" 

You looked back at him, over your shoulder, and your body froze up even more than it was before, if that was even possible. 

A string of red beads hung delicately from his neck, a silver inverted cross hanging from it with black thread at the bottom of it, almost like a bastardisation of a real string of rosary beads. Dark, hooded eyes stared down at you, an unreadable expression on his face, and the rotten animal blood on his hands dripped down on your uniform, staining it in a way you wouldn't be able to explain to your mum in the morning.

You scrambled onto your back, backing away from him, eyes trained on his, though he just took causal steps towards you, looming over you, threatening and intimidating.

"Gonna answer me, boy?" He asked, his voice gruff and low, and you backed into the trunk of a heavy oak tree, unable to go any further, unable to do anything more than just look up at him, with scared, desperate eyes. 

He knelt down to your level, his intimidation tactics absolutely effortless, easy, and his body language calm and collected, compared to your restless shaking, unable to prevent your frantic tics and spasms. You stayed silent, in fear that what you said would aggravate him even further.

"Right then."

He quickly wrapped a firm hand around your throat, a thumb and a sharp fingernail digging against your windpipe, making your frantic swallows feel tight and uncomfortable as you panicked silently underneath him. In his other hand, he pressed the tip of the bloody golden dagger that you had seen him use with such rough precision and care before against your jugular, dangerously sharp and terrifying, pinning you down against the tree trunk without any need for force at all. You knew that if he applied even the smallest amount of pressure, he could have killed you, left you to bleed out on the forest floor, and he knew that too by the way he smirked down at you, clearly amused by your fear, which unnerved you even more. 

"So." He started, as if he was making casual conversation. "Are ya gonna tell me why you were starin' at me so feverishly, eh?" He shifted a little on top of you, planting himself down on your thighs, a knee in against your crotch. He let out a dry, humourless laugh when he could feel your dick already semi-hard through your uniform trousers. "Though I think I understand. I see the boy has more sinful acts on his mind."

You felt an uncomfortably hot flush come to your cheeks and through to your ears as you shifted underneath him, eyes trained on the knife against your throat. "Didn't mean anythin' like that." You mumbled, your mouth dry and your tongue heavy. 

"I know sinners when I see them, my child." He practically whispered, bringing his face close to your's. His eyes were heterochromatic, one a pale milky grey and the other dark brown, almost black, and when he was so close to you, you could smell the blood and rot on his skin, masked with an intense scent of tobacco smoke. "And I can see one before me. No sense in pretending otherwise. I can always tell."

You swallowed hard, and his unrelenting eye contact was quickly beginning to unnerve you, though the point of the dagger was doing wonders in convincing you not to look away.

"There's nothing shameful about it." He continued. "Even the strongest of martyrs must give in to their more...sinful desires. It's surprising that even an ingrate such as yourself has this much self control."

"A rumour." You said, sitting up a little more, in an attempt to cut off his mini sermon. "Th-There was a rumour goin' about." The obnoxious stutter on your words made you cringe but you kept going. "'Bout someone doin' rituals by St Mary's. Wanted to know it was true."

He gave you an amused, questioning kind of look though the knife didn't drop at all, his grip on you unrelenting. 

"Is that so?" He said gently, and fuck, you hated how hard that tone of voice made you, as if you weren't already ashamed enough to get hard over someone holding a fucking knife to your throat. "Well, seems like you've got an answer to your own little rumour idea, haven't you, my child?" He dug his knee harder against your crotch, and grinned with sharp teeth at the pathetic little moan that you let out. 

You nodded your head, desperate for him to let you go before you embarrassed yourself even further. His knife lowered ever so slightly, and the grip on your throat dropped, letting you breath again. 

"I suggest you leave this place now, boy." He said, and the pressure on your crotch dropped quickly as well. "And if I catch you here again, the Lord shan't hold me responsible for what I may do." 

You nodded again, and the same harsh smirk came to his face as he didn't allow you to stand yet.

"But perhaps, a little something for you to remember first." He said, voice low, before he brought his lips to yours in a hard kiss, effectively pinning you back to the tree trunk once again.

Your eyes widened and you froze against him, not knowing what to do, instead choosing to stay still. He pressed something into your open shaking palm, though that was doing nothing to distract you from the hard kiss, and you closed your fingers around it, closing your eyes and allowing your body to respond the way it should against the kiss. 

He let you up eventually, pulling away from you with a cruel smile and walking back over to his bloody circle on the grass, to finish his ritual or sacrifice or whatever it was that he was doing. You looked down at what he had put in your hand and saw a rabbit's foot, still dripping with blood and staining your skin, that had been hacked off of the tiny animal that he was tearing apart. You glanced up to him, almost trying to will some kind of explanation but you got none, as he had gone back to ignoring you, busying himself with the rabbit.

You stood up quickly, and rushed out of the inning, shoving the tiny rabbit's foot into your pocket and grabbing your bike, desperate to get away from the scene as fast as you possibly could, like he had asked you to.

Questions raced through your mind as you peddled your way home, the bloody limb in your pocket burning a hole in your pocket, heavy and weighing you down.

Who was that man?

Was he being honest, or maybe he was just fucking with you and your tiny brain?

And why had he kissed you, without any kind of explanation?

You figured, at the very least, that you would finally have something to prove your bravery to Keith and your other friends.

Even if you had paid a heavy price for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy two weeks guys! sorry about no update yesterday, writers block got the best of me, but makin up for it with a monster of a double feature today!
> 
> this one's a little tamer than my usual fics but......next chapters got a lot of stuff in it, and i'm very excited to put it out. also i luv priest kink even though i'm a jew with little concept of the whole priest thing outside of mcr fanfiction who love that stuff. also no knowledge on satanism either. hope i do it justice anyway though
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	16. Serve Your Penance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 16: wax play  
> second person, 2D's perspective, alternate universe

Though you had promised to forget the face of the mysterious stranger from the inning, you couldn't get him off of your mind.

The rabbit foot that he had so affectionately pressed in your palm now hung from a thin silver chain that you had nicked from Mum's jewellery box while she was at work, and you clasped onto it tight when you remembered the inning event late at night, when you were all alone without anyone to do this for you. Pulled on it when you pressed well-lubed fingers into yourself, gripped yourself tight and worked yourself over into climax, remembering him, thinking about him doing all of this to you instead, while whimpers and prayers slipped from your lips, your head fucked into pure, white bliss. 

Your new adornment had raised a lot of questions outside of the bedroom though, particularly at the dinner table where it was typical for you to turn your nose up to anything with meat that your mum had cooked. In her defense, it was fairly hypocritical to wear a piece of an animal while you refused to eat one, but your rabbit foot had more meaning than that.

"Are you seeing this, Paul?" She had said on a Sunday night, her voice full of irritation, watching as you ate around the roast she had been cooking for the hour she'd been home after her shift at the hospital, trying to vaguely focus on the poorly seasoned potatoes and soggy vegetables instead. "Are you seeing this?"

Your dad glanced up at you, his face stuffed with chicken and yorkshire pudding, his gaze switching from you to her, obviously confused at her outrage towards you.

"What's wrong with 'im?" He asked and she let out a huff, stabbing at a piece of unseasoned, flavourless meat with her fork, scowling to herself, though she kept silent, wanting your dad to understand her outrage himself. "He's a vegetarian, ain't he? That's not exactly new, he's been one for years."

"No, no, but he's wearing a rabbit's foot, Paul. While being a vegetarian and not eating the roast that I worked so hard on." You just looked down at your plate, tearing up a piece of stuffing idly, though you had no plans of eating it because it always tasted like cardboard. "Isn't that a bit counter intuitive, Stuart? Where'd you even get that horrid thing?" She grimaced.

"From a friend." You mumbled, tapping your fingers against the table cloth nervously, and your dad could clearly sense your unease because he sat up a little more, clearing his voice. 

"Get off his case, Rach. All the kids are wearin' shit like that lately, ain't they?" He said, shoving more vegetables into his mouth. "Don't mean anything. Just trendy bollocks."

"I'd appreciate if you didn't swear at the table, Paul." She said, though he just rolled his eyes and looked back down at his plate, spooning brown packet gravy onto the yorkshire pudding and then taking a bite out of it. 

"He's twenty years old, Rachael." He mumbled, mouth full of the pastry. "Stop babying the poor lad. Probably heard worse at this point."

Similar points had been raised when you brought your new adornment to college as well. It had been enough to convince your friends of the existence of something more sinister going on at St Mary's, as well as being enough to satisfy Keith, so he would cough up the fifty pounds the he owed you for going down to the place. 

Though because your friends were, well, dickheads, they pestered you as to why you'd put the rabbit foot on the chain, even excusing you of being a "bender" and Ian had sneered that you were no better than the lad who Reverand John had felt up in the confessional booth. You told them all to fuck off, tucked the rabbit foot away and said it was just because it was easier to have it around your neck than trying to tote it into college without it. 

They were just teasing you, of course, not knowing that you had developed a sort of obsession around the priest of St Mary's, thinking about him whenever you could, always having him or something about him on your mind. 

What was his name?

What was he doing squatting in a church in Crawley?

Did anyone else do what he did?

Did he have services or, perhaps, ritualistic sacrificial meetings with anyone else?

Those thoughts scared you, in a way, though you couldn't stop having them. Your thoughts always wandered back to him though, back to the inning, always about him and the way his hands (lovely, gorgeous hands) clasped your throat, the way he held the dagger to your neck, the way he smirked when he pressed a knee against your dick, just knowing how much you were getting off over the terrifying act. The way the red beads bounced on his chest, the silver cross bright in the sunlight, the way he had kissed you in a way you had never been kissed before. 

All of it easily got your heart racing and left you panting and wanting more in the middle of the night as you clutched so desperately onto the fucking rabbit's foot, the only reminder that it had all happened.

You were not satisfied. And you wouldn't be ever again.

You had decided that you needed to go back to St Marys, even if there wasn't a chance of seeing him again, just to scratch at that curiosity bug that had bitten you, make it go away for just a while. 

It would come back as soon as you fell for someone else anyway.

Really, you did feel rather stupid at this point though, preparing yourself for a meeting that might not have even happen.

Anything that you got in retaliation to this ridiculous expedition you were going to deserve.

Armed with a backpack stuffed with typical survival fare, (a compass, your old rain mac, a pocket knife and a cheese sandwich if this was an all night job) and a heavy torch, you rolled your bike out of the shed again, shouted over to your dad that you were going to a friends for the night (though he hardly paid attention, since it wasn't like you were a teenager anymore.) 

You biked down the familiar pathways to St Mary's, the country road gravel crackling under your wheels though as you rode and as the sun started to set and night and darkness crept into the sky, it got progressively darker, harder to navigate even with the light on the front of your bike, and the trees above your head twisted into threatening looming shadows, almost taking on a life of their own. When the eerie wind howled and whistled through the branches, and you could hear every twitch or snap in the bushes from animals, your keenness to explore the abandoned church started to dwindle a little bit more every second you biked.

Yet still, you continued down the dreary country paths towards St Mary's, which looked as empty and as abandoned as it did before, though so much more terrifying in the dark. The century old graves bathed in the light of the waxing moon, and it looked as if the night was practically inviting zombies to split open the ground and crawl out.

Of course, that was just you being silly. Zombies didn't exist. 

Though if someone had told you about a Satanic priest squatting in an abandoned church in the middle of the Crawley countryside a week ago, you probably wouldn't have believed that existed either. 

You hadn’t believed it existed, in fact. And that's what had caused this entire thing.

You set your bike against the stone church wall, turning off the little light on the front and taking the heavy torch out of your backpack. It felt good to hold in your hands, feeling grounding in a way and gave you an illusion of being much more safe and secure than you probably were. You flicked the switch on and shined it against the broken chain on the heavy wooden door. Though it was thick, it had been cut through to allow anyone inside, so when you gave it a good, hard shove, it opened up for you with relative ease. 

The cone of your light lit up the dreary church as you moved around in the darkness, lighting up pews filled with wood rot and damp, thick spiderwebs in the rafters and broken tiles under your feet. Your mind wandered as you walked, thinking about how long this place must have been abandoned for, moving deeper into the church and making more finds. Prayer books and hymn notes were tattered and old, covered in thick layers of dust, the placards under the dull golden candle holders and goblets that would have held Sunday confessionals wine and wafers heavy with damp from the winters. It almost surprised you how much had been left in the church after the scandal, and why it hadn't been stripped down and taken away to a new church.

Then again, when the place had been built, it had been marked as a house of God, and though you didn't remember everything from year nine religious education, maybe people weren't allowed to tamper with that house once it was made. 

You didn't quite know, and it was fairly impressive that the stuff hadn't been looted by other squatters yet either.

Maybe people were far more God fearing than you thought.

There was small collection of lit candles on the other side of the church, lighting up a confessional booth that was far less dusty than the rest of the church had been. Your nerves were starting to get the best of you now, especially when you noticed that the candles looked fairly new, and just replaced, not dripping with any accident wax yet, as if someone had lit them maybe ten minutes ago. 

You weren't alone, it seemed.

You felt a thick lump gather in your throat, but you gripped onto your torch tightly and moved further into the church to investigate, opening the door of the booth to slip inside. 

You sat down in the dusty confessional booth, gripping onto the straps of your backpack and the heavy plastic torch, almost as a means to ground you and give you the illusion of safety and security, as you closed the door, effectively shutting yourself inside where you were trapped. The candlelight shined through the twisted grate and cast you in delicate shadow.

"Forgive me, Father." You started, your voice sounding almost hollow as you spoke. "For I have sinned." It was almost cliche at how you spoke those words so solemnly, but it felt right to be morose about it.

"When was your last confession?" The disembodied voice of the priest from the inning made you almost jump out of your skin, and you felt your mouth go dry and your hands shake.

"I-I have never confessed, Father." Your voice was starting to shake. "This will be my first confession."

"Understood." He said. "Please go on." 

You felt the guilty lump in your throat act up again and you swallowed hard against it, dropping your backpack to the floor and resting the now dull torch on the seat.

"I think of your image at night, privately, Father." You mumbled, gripping onto the grate between the two of you, fingers threaded through the holes, as a means of connecting the two of you without touch. "I think about you...doing things to me. Defiling me, Father."

"Sodomizing you, my child?"

Just that word was enough to make you cringe, reminding you of your homophobic RE teacher back when you were in primary school, the old tosser that called you and people like you sinners and sodomites. But you nodded regardless.

"Yes, Father." You said, and he chuckled, making your face flush red, though you had to press the heel of your hand against the growing ache in your jeans, eyes trained down in shame.

"How many times have you done this?" He asked, his voice as if he were asking an innocent question, and you bit your lip hard, brain tracking how many days it had been since your initial meeting.

"Five times, Father." You started to shamelessly unbutton your jeans and knead at yourself through boxers alone, the pressure feeling so wonderful against your aching dick already.

"You must understand, my child, that I as a prophet of the Lord must punish you for your sins. That’s my duty, of course. For your penance." He started, his voice catching in his throat ever so slightly. "I simply ask that you give me, and the Lord, of course, your body for me to control completely. You will be at my beck and call as I so wish. You will be a slave to my desires. Do you accept this penance?" He asked, voice light again.

Your trousers and briefs were tucked down and you were, hopefully, silently working yourself over as he spoke, barely paying attention to anything that he said, but you nodded, muttering out a "Yes, Father" in hopes that it would satisfy him.

"Good. Now you, the penitent, will make an Act of Contrition, understand?"

You glanced up at the grate again, gripping yourself tight, as if you were looking at his face. "I...I don't know what that is, Father."

"Of course not." He said, with a dry laugh. "Repeat after me."

_ "My Lord Down Below, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. _

_ In choosing to do wrong, and failing to good, I have sinned against You, whom I should love above all things.  _

_ I firmly intend, with the help of Your grace, to sin no more and to avoid what leads me to sin. _

_ In Your name, my Lord, have mercy." _

You repeated after him each line, with your own shaky stutterings, gripping yourself tighter and gripping onto the seat of the confessional booth, so desperately close that it was almost sacrilegious. You almost didn't believe most of what you said, because of course you didn't. You were a young man barely in the new millennium, believing in such things would have made anyone lose any respect towards you, made you a laughing stock. But you would prayed to him, begging at his shrine and altar every day for the rest of your life if he wanted you to.

He muttered his own prayer, and you listened intently, bordering your edge as he spoke, but he finished his prayer with a harsh laugh, a hand pressed up against the grate, almost against your own.

"If you climax now, boy, I want you to leave my church. Your penance would be compromised and you won't be able to serve it to me properly after all. Understand?"

The hand that had previously been so feverish dropped to your side suddenly, and you obeyed him despite how much it hurt to, how much you hated it.

"Yes, Father." You mumbled, ashamed that you had been so obvious.

"The Lord has forgiven your sins." He said, and you could hear the smirk on his voice. "Go in peace." 

Though you were hardly out of the confessional booth before he interrupted you, gripping your wrist tight, and dragging you up the other end of the church, to complete the penance that he had assigned to you.

-

He had strapped you down to the altar with thick leather belts, arms crooked above your head, your naked body cold against the stone, skin prickled with goose bumps and little shivers going down your spine. 

Truly the perfect picture of man giving himself entirely over to someone else, to do as they wished with him.

The candles barely lit the scene, casting flickering shadows across your body and bathing his body in low light, the tiny silver cross glinting against his chest, the dagger at his side barely visible but reminding you of its presence exactly the same. 

He held a thick red candle in one hand, a long flickering match in the other, and he lit the wick with delicate ease, staring at the orange flame as it danced before him. He let out a little chuckle as he watched your eyes widen watching him.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? Such is life, burning as we are born, and trickling through our fingers with each passing day, until we die, and we're nothing more than wax stains on the hands of the Almighty." Your body shook nervous shudders through your body, and smirked down at you. "Though an ingrate such as yourself hardly understands that, do you? The wills of our Father Down Below. Of course not, you're hardly a believer at all. The fact that I'm even wasting my time on you is unbelievable. You don't deserve my time."

"I can be a believer, Father." You stuttered out, pulling hard at the leather belts around your wrists. "I-I know I don't deserve your time. Or anythin' like that. But...but you can teach me. I can learn from you."

That same old smirk came to his face, as if he was satisfied with your desperate answer. "So receptive..." He said, his voice almost peaceful as he ran his fingers down your body, chuckling when you flinched. "So un-broken. A perfect little pawn for my church, aren’t you, boy?"

“Yes, Father.” You whispered shallowly.

A slow and steady stream of hot wax fell from the flickering candle as he tipped it up onto your chest, burning and searing your skin, making you gasp and flinch, pulling at the belts fastening you down to the altar. The red blood-like drops dripped down your stomach, painting you with splats and spots as if you were a canvas, and he your artist standing above you, staring down at you hungrily, devouring every one of your little reactions with a satisfied smirk.

Each spill of the hot wax came with it further gasps and whines and hard twists on the stone, getting more intense when it covered more sensitive areas around your nipples and protruding ribs, and harsher when it reached down to your crotch.

He started to run a teasing finger down your weeping slit, letting out a dry chuckle when you twitched uselessly against his touch, your hips jutting up  for him just to give you any kind of notice. 

"Rather pathetic, aren't you?" He asked, and you felt your cheeks burn as he kept stroking the head of your dick. "Completely driven by the mortal sins of the flesh. Like there's barely anythin' left in that head of your's, is there?" You whined with needy attention as he gripped you tighter, desperate for him. He frowned for maybe a moment, his fingers loosening ever so slightly on your dick, and you're already whining hard at the loss, your body arched and cracking the cooled wax on your chest.

"Yes, Father." You gasped, as he ran an affectionate thumb over your slit again. "Nothin' else in my head at all, Father. Just you, just this."

“And the Lord, my child.”

“Yes, Father.”

He let out a small appreciative hum, and though his stroke was gentle, you couldn't help but feel a slight anxious twist in your gut as he raised the candle again. 

"Of course. You really should feel quite grateful I'm even spending time on a mindless ingrate like you. Blessed, even." You nodded, trying not to shake or tremble against the cold stone. "So. I'll give you my blessing, if you'll take it."

“I’ll take it, Father.” You said, your voice low enough for a whisper. “Please. I’ll take anything.” 

And he tipped the candle once again, spilling drops of searing hot wax down your dick, and you howled out in intense pain, your screams echoing in the empty church, bouncing off the old decaying stone and making it so much louder.

It burned so intensely that it made your head ache and the line between intense pain and blissful pleasure quickly blurred as it dripped down your skin, decorating you with red.

When the pain eventually subsided, you were left shaking even more than you were before, breathing heavy and unstable, making your chest rise and fall so much quicker, heaving almost uncomfortably. 

"Beautiful." He said, and he quickly blew the flame out and set the candle down, as soon as you'd gotten a kind of taste for the delicious pain, of course.

He stroked his hands down your body again, dark skin against pale with droplets of red contrasting even further making your head swim with want, and your dick ache even more. With a little huff, he plucked one of the lighter drops from your skin, looking down on you as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger with a frown.

"Though this won't do at all, will it? Can barely see you."

He reached to his belt, fiddling with a holster momentarily, to pull out the same golden dagger that he had used on the tiny body of the rabbit, the blade clean and so polished that the other candles around the altar shined in the reflection, the handle adorned with twisting molded designs, flowers and thorns and vines intertwining up the delicate metal as he held it. Beautifully sharp and dangerous and when he caught your eyes staring at it, he raised it up to your gaze, and you could see yourself mirrored in the gold. 

Delicately, he eased the tip of the golden knife under one of the flecks of wax, slicing through the almost negative space between your skin and the blood red droplets, and shaving it off of you, allowing your skin to breath again. You gasped as he sliced away each fleck of wax with gentle hands and motions, and he looked up at you as if he were looking up at a shaking lamb on a ritual table, ready to be blood let for the sake of the horrific act. 

"It's almost funny, isn't it?" He mused as he cut away more of the wax. "As you cast your body unto me, so you cast off broken and cracked skin. Full of disrepair, in need of replacing, in a way perhaps." He carved little lines into a larger solid puddle, a few letters, a pentagram. He smiled serenely as he pried that off as well. "As if you are becoming a completely new person under my wing."

You nodded desperately as he cut off more flakes of the wax, hoping that he didn't mind your frantic shakes and trembles of pleasure underneath him, but he didn't seem bothered by it, undistracted with his task of carving away all the wax that he had so carelessly poured down your body not even minutes before.

The knife circled around your nipples dangerously, cutting away little flecks of wax with each second and the sudden cold against such a sensitive area of your body made you gasp and flinch as he continued to touch it, pleased and amused at your reactions, trying to urge more out of you.

Eventually though, he traced the knife down your crotch and the blade was uncomfortably close to your dick, and you suddenly felt your body freeze, not daring to make a wrong move just in case something terribly, terribly wrong happened when he made a slight slip of the wrist.

He chuckled at your sudden stillness, dragging the sharp blade down your length and just seeing it made you want to cringe and squirm, though of course you stayed frozen against the stone, not really knowing how far he was going to take this "owning your body" thing. The golden blade reflecting sharp candlelight and you couldn't keep your eyes off of that light, paying such close attention to it, absolutely terrified of whatever he had planned.

However, he simply smirked and dragged the blade over the wax drops forcing them to flake off with little resistance. The blade barely dug in, even feeling dull against your skin, but you remained terrified and still under him.

"Rather responsive that that threat, aren't you, boy?" He asked, his voice almost light and teasing, and you were almost outraged over his total casualness towards the situation. "Though I certainly could, if I wanted to. After all, I shouldn't be encouragin' you to act on your sinful desires. Perhaps to render your body useless to those desires would be the right act." He pressed the blade sharply against the base of your dick and you pulled hard at the belts binding you to the altar.

"Father!" You said, your voice practically choked and scared. He let out an amused laugh through his nose, pulling the blade away and tucking it back into the pocket on his belt.

"Only jokin'." He said, and you breathed out a shallow sigh of relief. "After all, what use would you be to me castrated." The previous press of the golden blade on your skin was replaced by a harsh grip around your length, pulling tight, already working you over. "Your sinful desires are the only reason I'm even considerin' keepin' you for my church, anyway. You wouldn't have even caught my eye otherwise. You understand this, don’t you?"

"Yes, Father. I understand, Father." You said through gasps as your hips bucked into his grip uselessly, silently begging for more, as you had already been so hard from before in the confessional, and this atmosphere and his words were doing nothing to deter you from your desperate ache for climax. 

"Tell me you want it, boy." He whispered, his voice so hushed that you almost couldn't hear that it was even there.

"I want it, Father." You muttered, your head so close to climax that it was reeling, and you were barely able to make any sense of what your words said. "I need it. I need you. Please."

"Then by all means." He said, with a particularly hard grip. "Give in to the sins of the flesh, my child. Cum for me."

And he didn't need to ask twice before you were tipping your head back in silent ecstasy and cumming up your chest, so quickly and forcefully that a spatter even caught your cheek.

There was hardly any time to recover or any other words spoken between the two of you before he was kneeling on the stone altar himself, taking your ankles in his hands and hooking your legs over his shoulders. A free hand dripped viscous liquid, oil perhaps, into his hands and he pulled his bare dick out from under his boxers, coating himself with the oil, and though your body probably wasn't ready for whatever he had planned, you were almost salivating at the sight of it.

"You've done this before." He said, and though it wasn't a question, you still nodded your head because it felt right. "Of course you have. You're hardly ready for me yet, are you." Again, not a question, but you shook your head for him. He aligned himself against your hole, and slowly eased himself inside of you, making you let out a loud moan that echoed through the church.

"But I can teach you." He said, and he eased himself into a pattern of thrusting in and out inside of you, responding to each of your moans with a sharp slap to the thigh or a grope at the hip. "You can learn from me, I'll be your teacher if ya want me to be."

"Please, Father." You begged, trying to urge your hips down against him, but his positioning, while incredibly hot, rendered you near enough useless when combined with the heavy leather belts that bound you down. That did make the situation slightly hotter, though that was something you hated to tell yourself.

"Oh yes." He crooned, easing himself in to the base of his dick, and keeping still for a few seconds, before thrusting his hips ever so slightly, making the head of his dick press against all the little bundles of nerves inside of you that shot vicious trembles of your spine. "Like clay, I could mold you into the perfect little servant for me, for my Lord, our Lord."

Hearing him say that made you moan out at the pure intimacy of it all, and he clenched his fist in the meat of your thigh, quickly losing all of his composure.

"You'd be the perfect servant for me, wouldn't you? You'd serve me whenever I wanted it, whenever I needed you. So desperate to please."

You were already getting close to your second climax, so close it started to hurt, and small whimpers slipped out through your moans, though you remained ever dedicated to please him.

"Yes, Father. Let me be your servant. Please. I'll be good for you." He let out a deep moan at your words, and you had to admit, that pleased you almost as much as his unrelenting thrusting inside of you.

Almost.

"Oh sweet fucking Satan, cum for me. I want to see it, wanna see you painted in it." He begged, as a relentless mantra of "inside me, cum inside me, fuck me harder, please" spilled mindlessly from your lips, and you were both desperate to fuck each other into deep, intense climax that you were hardly able to focus on each other's pleasure at all.

He came first naturally, a loud cry of "Hail Satan" on his lips when he tipped his head back and gripped onto you tight, sharp fingernails digging into your skin, sure enough to leave some nasty marks that you would treasure for the few days that they stayed there. It was to be expected, you had already cum before he had after all, though it wasn't long after that until you were cumming up your front for a second time, the spattering of pale white on your skin, along with occasional drops of red wax that he had missed when he was cleaning you off truly depicting you like a twisted, filthy painting of his own design.

He pulled out of you, and leaned up to delicately unbuckle the belts that had dug so tightly into your wrists, though you hadn't even thought to notice after awhile of getting used to it.

You rubbed at the sore little marks as he redressed himself, and he turned back to you, threading the red beads through his fingers, as if he was counting each one, almost like real rosaries.

"You will return, won't you?" He asked, and you nodded your head, almost surprised that he had asked you such a question so genuinely.

"Yes, Father." You said, and he smiled in a crooked way, one side more raised in the other, but weirdly real in your eyes. "I have to serve my penance, don't I?"

"Yes, my child, you do." You stood to your feet, feet cold against the broken tiles and slowly walked up to him. "And it seems that I...we own you now, don't we?"

"Yes, Father." You said. He leant down to pick up the tattered rabbit's foot from your pile of clothes on the floor, and delicately draped it around your neck, stroking over the brown fur in an almost affectionate sort of way.

"Don't suppose the only member of my congregation has a name, do they?" He asked, catching your eye contact as he stroked.

"Stuart." You said, your vision practically starry eyed as you looked at him. He let out a bright little laugh, which made you smile almost instantly.

"Guardian of a household. The most important servant there is, in fact." He grinned, exposing unnaturally sharp teeth and it made your heart race even more. "How apt." 

"And you?"

"You can call me Murdoc, if you'd like."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i love this fic even though i have no idea what i'm talking about with all that religious stuff
> 
> i'm just a very kinky jew alright
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	17. Lifeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 17: blood/gore  
> second person, from 2D's perspective
> 
> follows a story line from chapter 10 but it's not required reading to enjoy this chapter

"Y'alright, lad!" He said back to you cheerily, a bright grin coming to his blood splattered face, as if he weren't moving a heavy silver hack saw through splintering bone and soaked fatty flesh.

You were stunned into shocked silence as you watched the scene unfold in front of your eyes, freezing in the door frame, staring down at him kneeling over a man, no, a corpse, positively soaked head to toe in sticky red blood that was creating a steady pool on the concrete basement floor. 

"W-" You started, your voice suddenly thickly catching in your throat as you held onto the door frame in an attempt not to faint. "What are you doin' exactly, Murdoc..."

"Ah, well, this is Vince." He said, kneeling up a little so you were able to see the bloody, mushed up pulp and shattered skull of what had once been a man's face, and motioning towards him with a nod. "Just someone from my past, trying to get himself involved with me again." He turned to face the corpse again, a near psychotic smile pulled tightly on his face, gripping the handle of the saw tightly. "Didn't ya, Vincey? Tried to blackmail me, didn't ya? Tried to squeeze one last job outta me, didn’t ya? As if anyone would of believed your old, perverted arse anyway!" He accentuated his point rather strongly by driving the saw through it's last cut and tugging the man's arm off by the wrist, with a sickening snap of tendons and veins breaking, along with the squelch of flesh being ripped from skin.

You felt the blood run from your face, your stomach suddenly heaving and bordering the line of vomiting very, very quickly. Murdoc wasn't bothered though, made a face of faked disgust at it, and simply threw the severed limb across the room towards the burning crater in the ground with a sickening thud.

"You're fuckin' mad." You said, voice nearly a whisper. "You've completely lost it!" Louder now. "What could he have done to you, eh? What could have deserved this?!" He had quickly moved onto cutting through the next arm, hacksaw already doing a quick, bloody number on the skin and flesh. “Answer me!”

"Nothin' you need t'now about, mate, believe me." He murmured, and it seemed as if he was completely unbothered by the way the blood seeped on his skin and stained the sleeves of his shirt, simply rolled them up to his elbows to get them out of his way.

"No, that's not enough this time, Murdoc!" You made an attempt to keep your tone as intimidating and stern as possible. "You're gonna have to tell me, or...or I'll tell someone what ya did! Yeah! I'll go to the coppers or something. And you’ll have to tell them yaself!"

Though for some reason, when he turned to you, his dark eyes filled with pure, unbridled hate and disdain, blood soaking his skin, and the heavy hacksaw clenched tightly in his fist, the flickering embers from the crater beside him casting him in a fiery, orange glow, you couldn't help but immediately lose any tone of intimidation in your voice and feel, instead, incredibly nervous and a bit scared of the man, if you had to admit it.

"Ya really wanna know, eh?" He asked, his voice low, and you hesitantly nodded. He let out a little scoff and stood to his feet, hacksaw being left half way through the bloke's shoulder without any kind of trouble, and giving the motionless corpse a little kick in the side as he did. He squared up to you, and despite the height difference, you had to take a step back, since his intimidation tactics were always much better than your's and always worked wonderfully against you.

"That man." He started, thrusting a bloody finger towards the mess in the middle of the room. "Is a violent, disgustin’ criminal. A liar. And a thief. And a rapist. He deserved what he got, and everything I'm gonna do with his rotten corpse."

He turned back to return to his crime scene, leaving you with further questions and even further confusion.

"Well, h-how d'ya know that?" You asked, grimacing at your stutter, and he glared back at you over his shoulder, an intense frown on his face.

"Put two 'n' two together, mate. Not gonna spell it out for ya."

And he didn't have to.

You weren't a complete idiot after all.

He knelt back down to take a grip of the hacksaw, getting back to work on the body. You stayed in the door frame, watching him, vicious trembles going through you despite the blazing heat from the crater.

"Are the coppers gonna get involved?" You asked, trying to remember everything you had learnt from your mum's obsession with crime dramas when you were a kid. He shrugged his shoulders as he kept sawing into the new limb.

"Can't imagine anyone will be pokin' about for him. If anything, him bein' dead will a favour to people."

You nodded, just to yourself since he wasn't paying attention to you anyway, almost trying to assure yourself that you were going to be alright, something terrible wasn't going to happen and police weren't going to drag him away in the middle of the night.

Again.

"Ya puttin' the body in the crater, right?" You muttered, and he nodded his head. The other arm came off as cleanly as the first one, and he threw that to the side as well. "Any reason you're cuttin' it up first?"

"Personal reasons." He said, and he did a lazy crawl over to where a switchblade, coated with blood, had been thrown to the side, and quickly stabbed it into the chest of the corpse without giving you a second to prepare yourself first. "After all, mate, y'lookin' at the first man I gave my heart to." 

You didn't want to know what he meant by that.

"So...since I'm nothin' but a man of fair trade, equality 'n' all that." He dragged the knife down the sternum of the lifeless body without any relative kind of resistance, the switchblade obviously sharp enough to do it's job. "And since I gave ya my heart." He dropped the knife again and drove his hand inside of the body, as if he was searching for something, while you stood by and watched, in sick fascination.

"Only fair you give me your's too."

He pulled out a messy handful of flesh, rips snapping like twigs as he tugged harshly, and when you looked harder, you could see it was the man's cold, unbeating heart, veins and arteries hanging off of the thing, dripping down messily and staining his skin with blood that looked as if it would never wash off.

You doubted it would, metaphorically speaking anyway. 

He gave it a harsh squeeze which only made the blood drip more, digging his fingers into the delicate layers of organ, and you could see his chest heave and his breathing get heavy, like he was holding back something that only you recognised.

Despite the grisly scene, you stepped closer to him, slowly, and knelt beside him, an affectionate hand placed on the small of his back. The hand holding the heart dropped to his side, and it fell from his grip with a disgusting wet slap.

"Why don't I feel any better." He said, his voice low and his gaze fixed to the body before him. "I tore out his fuckin' heart. But it doesn't." He cut himself off with a desperate little laugh, raking his bloody hands through his hair desperately. "Doesn't feel right! I still remember. It's not gone, why isn't it gone?" He turned to you then, his eyes full of confused desperation. "Why do I still remember it all, 2D?"

You were silent, because you didn't know what to say. You didn't have any kind of advice for him, and you were sure he probably didn't want it either. He just wanted someone to listen to him, to understand him, not judge him, you guessed.

So you held onto him, instead of saying anything, wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him close to you, pressing your face between his shoulder blades, not minding the coppery smell of blood and organs on his skin, or the burning embers from the crater. Just needed to be with him, while he needed you so desperately.

"Stop now, yeah?" You mumbled. "I'll help ya get rid of it. But it's not helping anymore, alright. I’ll help you. Let me help you."

And he nodded, but only before he quickly turned to face you, and kissed you, hard and desperate, not nearly as practiced or precise as he usually was with you, which admittedly was something you didn’t like nearly as much as his usual methods.

The blood smeared on your tongue as he did it, with a hard, fast desperation inside of him that you hadn't seen before. He gripped onto you so tight, his bloody hands staining your shirt as he touched, though you didn't think to say a word of complaint about it.

He needed you. Needed this. And you would do what you could just to help him right now, when he needed you most.

He stopped eventually though, pressed his face against your chest, and you held onto him again as he let out shaky little sobs into the fabric of your t-shirt. You, again, didn't say anything, stroked his back, his hair, trying to calm him down the best you could.

When he was done crying in your arms, and you were done comforting him, you both carried the body over towards the crater, you olding the ankles, him at the shoulders, and threw it down into the fires, trying not to pay attention to the foul smell that it produced. He threw the disembodied arms alongside it, and eventually, dropped the heart down there too.

You couldn't help but feel that the act felt strangely intimate, the two of you coated in the blood of someone who had done wrong by you, trying to retain the status quo, get rid of any more of the evil in the world. 

You wouldn't say this though, because there was no doubt that he would have just called you a weirdo and try to forget the entire thing happened. And you wouldn't have blamed him for it either.

But that didn't mean that you had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if any of you have read chapter 10, this is the same vince. same dude, like. twenty five years apart. he's dead now though, all is good
> 
> this needs zero context and i don't intend to give one
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	18. Pulp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 18: body modification  
> second person, from 2D's perspective, trans male murdoc

It was the early days when you used to go out, when you still shared her clothes and you let her do your make-up, your hair, when it was still trendy for boys like you to be feminine and flashy, without masculinity being forced down your throat. When you were allowed to just be, without having to explain yourself to anyone about it. When you didn’t have something to prove.

Paula understood that, more than anyone. And what’s better, she was always happy to give you an outlet for your more. Feminine side, for lack of a better word.

She invited you round to her place after her shift at the pub one night, played loud music from bands you didn't know, and put a pile of clothes in front of you, telling you to help yourself because you were gonna go clubbing tonight with her. She told you she was meeting someone there, a girl she'd met at work, as she padded her bra with scrunched up tissues and sifted through her best clothes, said she was "well fit" but she didn't want to go alone and look like a "right loser."

You understood though, and you were always a pretty good wingman. Wingwoman. Wingperson. 

You always wore tight tops and skirts when you were with her, tiny little things that showed off your tattoos, your shiny silver piercings, to make up for how much you hid them in your day to day life, since no doubt Mum would flip her shit if she ever saw them. A pair of black sheer tights with holes and ladders in precarious places tonight though, with imitation leather knee high boots, though no heel so not to make you look any taller.

A tight cropped Misfits t-shirt, the short sleeves exposing a still throbbing "23" tattoo on your bicep, barely healed but desperate to be seen, and a short blue and black tartan skirt, pleated, barely covering your underwear, daring in a weird, safe sort of way though. 

She sat you down in front of her vanity mirror while she stood in her underwear, straightened your hair and pulled it into a tight spiky ponytail, all while she talked about how shit her shift was, how many creepy guys had talked to her while she served them and how she wished some girls would hit on her instead, just as a little switch up. You laughed, told her you got the same at the piano shop all the time, though with bored housewives who liked hearing you play your example pieces. She outlined your eyes with black, your lids were smeared with smokey grey and heavy red on your cheeks, and she joked that you should try going to the shop in your club gear, just for a laugh. You noted that your co-workers were all so bored, they probably wouldn’t even notice, and she said it was a shame.

She left you to it then as she continued to change, giving you free reign with her jewellery box, but still frowned at your bland choices, said you were a "proper bore", though you didn't see anything wrong with your choices. A silver crown charm on a black cord, a plastic choker that you always liked seeing on girls, think black bangles and your regular silver hoops and studs. You told her it was subtle, not in your face, and she rolled her eyes, but didn't bother you anymore about it. She was busy making up her own face, choosing her own outfit to bother you about yours anymore.

You sat back on a black fluffy beanbag under a Sex Pistols poster, fiddling with the silver barbell through your belly button, playing with the little bat dangling from it as she tried to squeeze into a pair of red skinny jeans that she had owned since at least the first year of college.

"So, where are we goin' tonight then?" You asked, giving the bat a little tug when she finally zipped her jeans shut. 

"Gay bar in town." She said, buttoning them shut once and for all. "Amy said they let girls in for free during happy hour and the cocktails are two for one."

"Reckon I'll get in for free then?"

"Stu, it's girls, not drag queens." She grinned over at you as she pulled on a black tank top, adjusting the spaghetti straps over her bra straps as a means to hide them. "But they got a really good set on tonight as well. Some proper good bands."

"Yeah?" You leaned forward a little, and she sat down on the bed, pulling on a pair of black stiletto heels. "Anyone I'd know?"

"Mm, don't think so, mate." Buckling the straps around her ankles, over her feet. "Not many locals, more out of towners. There aren't many gay rock clubs in the area, so I s'pose they flock over this place when they get the chance to." She stood up in front of the mirror, running her fingers through her hair. "They're always good though. Amy said she tries to go every time someone new comes in, in case they ever get big or something."

You smiled coyly, standing up to join her in front of the mirror, her height in the stilettos easily matching your's. "Lot of talk about this Amy girl. Think she's the one then?" You asked her reflection, and grinned at the coy little smile that came to her lips.

"Look, I dunno. Not sayin’ anything yet. But I really like her." She pulled down her top a little and wiped an uneven line of lipstick with her pinky finger. "Plus, when I told her I was trans, she full on didn't even blink or say anything ‘bout it. Don't get a girl like that everyday, almost proposed to her on the spot."

"Aw, my girl's growin' up so fast!" You said, wrapping your arms around her middle and giving her an affectionate squeeze, despite how much she fought you off. "I better be invited to the wedding, mind you."

"Bastard, you'd be my maid of honour!" She said with a bright grin, turning to face you and giving you an affectionate peck on the cheek, though her painted lips had probably left a stain there. "That reminds me, Stuart Tosspot, when are you gonna be bringin' a fella into my bar?"

You flushed bright red, redder than the blush was getting you anyway and let go of her waist, rubbing at the stain with your heel. "I dunno, Paula. Ain't really had the chance to talk to anyone so far. And who says it'll be a fella anyway?"

"Ya can't tell me you're not as flaming as I am when you're standing there in a bloody skirt, Stu." Hands on her hips, looking at you like your mum did.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Can't we just have a sexless marriage and move to the countryside with a load of kids, like we always said though? That sounds way better than tryin’ t’date someone new." You asked, and her stern look melted into something a bit more pitying. "Sounds a lot less complicated right now too."

"Get Mum off my case as well." She said, sifting through her wardrobe again. "But I'll end up cheating on you with our babysitter and I'll find you in the rose bush with our gardener and really, how will we explain the divorce to our children, Stuart?" 

"Of course, gotta think about what's best for the kids." You said, and she laughed, throwing on a leather jacket over her ensemble and chucking a light cardigan in your direction. 

"Don't worry, mate, you’ll find someone. And who knows? You might find Mr Right tonight as well as me finally getting with the hottest piece of arse this side of Crawley." Double checking she had everything in her tiny clutch, and you stuffed it all in the pockets of the cardigan.

"Thought you already got with me though." 

"Cheeky boy." 

-

When you got into the club, her not having to pay since it was Happy Hour and you having to fork over a fiver despite how much you argued, the heavy rock music was deeply intense and thumping your brain between and the air was practically smoke as you walked in deeper. 

You'd been into gay bars before mind you, but none of them had ever been like this. They were more about playing loud repeats of Madonna and Cher among mindless dance music, shirtless lads in denim sipping at expensive cocktails as they gossiped about affairs that they’d had with married men or casual fucks in the middle of the night. An image of class and grace but nothing underneath.

Here though, there wasn't a DJ or a dance floor, no, there was more of a stage for performers and a standing area, almost a mosh pit in a way. Lads with mohawks and distressed jeans snogged against walls, girls in heavy makeup and short skirts hung on each other, giggling and kissing hard, and honestly, despite how up front it was, you preferred this dirty edge to any kind of clean cut image others bars pushed.

Paula grabbed at your hand and pulled you over towards the stage, shouting at you that you should watch them together before she went to go find her mystery girl. She told you that Amy had raved about this band and they had just started their set, told you you'd love them, and of course you were open to whatever she was trying to sell to you, finding a nice standing area amongst a group of rockers in leather with long hair, and keeping your gaze fixed on the stage.

The band were good though.

Hell, they were even really good.

You weren't typically into stuff like this, never really liked it when a singer just screamed down a mic and expected the audience to react with anything other than pure confusion, but for some reason, you really didn't mind this one.

Though, perhaps, that might have been because you were slightly distracted by the bassist on the Stage Left.

He kept his attention down to his strings, strumming at them with an ease that was so careful and practiced, you could already tell that he must have studied for years.

His pure black hair complimented his dark skin perfectly, and each time he shook it out of his eyes, you saw thick brows, furrowed in concentration, dark eyes trained down, deft fingers with black painted nails and adorned with thick silver rings never missing a beat or a note. 

A new song started and he grinned, showing off unnaturally sharp teeth, approaching the singer with a poise you found deeply admirable and sang (with a rather lovely voice, you had to admit) into the mic along with him, keeping his hands trained on his bass. He shook sweat out of his hair wildly, and fuck, the man even started to thrust his hips against his bass, laughing out loud when the other members of the band faked their outrage towards him.

"Murdoc, mate, we can't take ya anywhere without you tryin' t'stick ya dick in the bloody bass!" The drummer piped up from behind him when they finished the song.

"Aw shit, sorry!" He called back, same cheeky grin ever present on his face though. "'Spose I better take it off then, since I can't control the thing." 

In a ludicrous display, he unbuttoned his jeans and stuck his hand down the crotch of them, making everyone in the audience scream out in excitement. To your surprise though, he pulled out a handful of flaccid plastic, a dick limp in his hands, and you put two and two together by assuming it was a packer. He threw it to the side of the stage, leaving the audience howling in delight.

"There, all gone!"

"Yeah well, try not to stick anything up your cunt this time." Singer spoke up, turning back to his microphone, and Murdoc just grinned, strumming out new chords and captivating the audience once again.

You stayed fixed to the spot in the pit for the entire set, literally just staring at the bassist and how well he performed, even keeping still and stunned when they played their last song and took their bows, reintroducing themselves as Toxic Chunder and signing off of the stage.

Paula looked at you, amused as all hell, and waved a hand in front of your eyes, in an attempt to alert you out of your daze. 

"I see ya took a bit of a liking to someone then, Mr Pot." She said with a teasing smile, and you glanced over at her, almost looking a bit desperate. "It was the bassist, wasn't it?"

"Holy shit, Paula." You mumbled. "I think I'm in love."

"They'll probably be over at the bar, if ya wanna pop by." She said, smiling a Cheshire like grin. "Maybe have a little talk with Mr Right, eh?" Nudging you with her elbow.

You didn't even try to put up an argument with her, simply letting her drag your sorry ass over towards the smoky bar and seating area, to where the band members of Toxic Chunder were already starting to drink to acess, to make up for all the time that they had lost on stage.

And that included your bassist.

The bassit, being called Murdoc, you assumed, stood leaning at the bar, loud and proud, laughing with the other band members as he took swigs from multiple beer bottles that you weren’t sure which was actually his. He stood without any kind of fear in him, full of confidence, and that alone intimidated you enough to shy away from him.

Paula gave you a sharp jab in the ribs with her elbow, mouthing over at you "talk to him!" over the heavy music of the next set, who honestly weren’t nearly as good, and you glanced down, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, tugging it down a little as you stepped closer to the gathering of band mates and regulars.

"Er, 'scuse me!" You said, a little louder than you wanted, but it alerted his attention. "Um. You, I mean, ya set, it was really good. You were really good."

He looked back at you and did a double take that made you almost laugh, and you gave him a nervous little smile as he looked you up and down. He grinned brightly and turned to face you, walking away from his group and towards you, just you.

"Ah, well, cheers darlin'. " He said, a hand on his hip, cocking ever so slightly. "Glad I provided somethin' enjoyable for ya."

You must have looked a right sight, practically ogling the guy as he stood, mouth agape and eyes wide, as if this was the first time you had seen a vaguely attractive man in your life. He didn't seem to mind though, if anything, it looked like he enjoyed the attention. 

"Y-Yeah." You said again, finally finding your voice. "I, er, really liked the third one in ya set. The bass line was well good, you're a wonderful player."

"Oh, Dark Pop? Yeah, I wrote that one actually." His grin quickly turned cheeky and he crossed his arms over his chest, still holding onto the beer bottle that he had nicked from one of the other members of his band. "Glad you liked it, sweetheart."

The use of the affectionate pet name made you flush and smile in a way you hoped that he didn't see in the low light of the club.

“I’m Stuart, by the way.” You said, offering your hand out, and he took it, giving it a good firm shake with a little smile.

“Murdoc Niccals, at your service.” He glanced back over at his band mates, who were still ordering more drinks at the bar, and then back at you, giving you a little smile.

"Come on, love, let's go have a sit down. I'm fuckin' knackered from that set 'n' I think I've found somethin' I like already."

Oh.

Oh wow.

You liked this a lot.

You followed him to the crowded seating area, and you were slightly impressed that he was able to find a more secluded area, with a wall seat and a table and everything. When you sat down, you craned your head up a little to see where Paula had gotten off to, though she seemed happily occupied talking to another girl, Amy, you guessed, at the bar, cackling at all the little jokes you assumed she was making.

"She bring you along then?" He asked absentmindedly, obviously having seen you two walk together and the way you immediately looked for her, as he set down his beer bottle and reached to his jean pocket for a cigarette packet.

"Yeah. Best friend." You said, sort of unsure with what to do with your hands, other than just fiddling with the hem of the skirt, providing a much more nervous energy than you would have liked. "Says I should go out more but. I dunno."

"Nah, she might be right. Can't be hidin' a pretty face like that indoors forever, eh?" He chuckled and lit the end of his cigarette, taking a quick drag, while you hid your face in your hands from embarrassment. 

"What's your poison then, sweetheart?" He asked absentmindedly, breathing out a cloud of smoke, and your hands dropped back down to your lap again as fast as they had gone up.

"Er. Rum and coke, if ya offerin'." You said, and he nodded, getting up from his seat and reaching for his wallet. 

"Got it. Give me a mo'." He left you to it to join his band mates back over at the bar. 

You looked back over towards Paula, almost trying to see guidance and to see if she'd made anymore progress with Amy, and it seemed that she had, since she was practically on top of her against the bar, their lips pressed together, and Amy's hand ever so affectionately groping at Paula's ass. 

Though to be fair, by your standards, that was being affectionate in its palest form.

When you turned back to your table, a drink was placed in front of you and Murdoc was sitting back in his place, another stolen drink at his lips, his cigarette delicately balanced between his fingers.

“Rum and cola. Pulp would be proud.” You smiled and took a little sip with the tiny straw provided, appreciating his topical reference.

“So.” You started, prodding at the floating ice cubes, and giving him a curious look. “Oasis or Blur?”

-

It was the third, or maybe the fourth drink in when you were getting starry eyed and giggly, sipping at cocktails through tiny black straws, just listening to him tell his countless stories about fights at pride parades, drunken mishaps, stories of bad sex with ex boyfriends, and you laugh far too loud at his jokes, his little quips every now and then. 

But he kept talking, kept up the entertaining stories, smiling whenever you laughed and keeping the drinks in front of you from getting too low. A hand rested on your knee affectionately, and it moved higher up as he keeps talking, almost to the hem of your skirt, and even if you were slightly taken aback by how forward he was, you loved the attention, loved how easily he could get your head swimming. 

You started to retell a story yourself, something about your mum catching you and your first boyfriend together, and he cackled out, taking another swig from his beer bottle and you grinned, sipping at the rum and coke, snorting, in a very unattractive way, mind you when he made a sarcastic comment about it, told him that this was the most fun you had on a night out in a long time, this was a great place, you were going to come here more often.

Before he said anything else, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into a hard kiss, tongue immediately pressed between your lips, almost down your throat. 

You pulled back quickly, eyes wide, and he gave you a curious look. The grip on your thigh didn’t relent though, even moving a bit higher up.

"Did I do somethin' wrong?" He asked, and you shook your head, looking down, watching his hand itch up higher.

"No, no, nothin' wrong." You said, almost breathlessly. “Just...not used to it, I s’pose.” He knocked back his beer quickly and you bit on your lip, fiddling with your fingers nervously, wondering if maybe you’d said something wrong. 

“I’ll help ya get used to it, if ya want me to.” He crooned, and your brain still felt blurry from all the alcohol and you wondered if he had the same blur in his brain, and that was the reason he was being so forward with you. Inching closer to the ache under the tight underwear and tuck. 

"Murdoc..." You let out a steady breath, voice ever so slightly shaky in a way that embarrassed you to think about. 

"Ya can tell me ya like it, darlin'." He said, mouth close to your ear, voice almost a whisper but harsh and cutting inside of you, practically shaking you apart and doing nothing to numb the burning in the pit of your stomach. You glanced over at him, and his relentless staring shook you apart even more.

"I do like it." You mumbled, looking back over at him. "I really...like it, yeah." He smirked and took a hard grip on the Misfits shirt in his fist, pulling you close and into a close kiss, and you let yourself relax into it, falling apart against him and letting him hold you together. 

Maybe snogging a stranger in the middle of a gay bar after a few too many cheap cocktails and beers was in poor taste, and you would have considered it trashy had it not been you in the situation, but you couldn't bring yourself to care all that much in the moment, purely focused on him, focusing on his kiss, his touch.

His hands pushed up the back of your shirt, tracing your spine, scratching down your skin. You eagerly did the same, desperate to touch him, get closer to him, anything he wanted.

He pulled away from the kiss, panting heavily as you touched him more, fingers playing with the barbels in his nipples, stroking and tugging on them, only encouraged further by his gasps and barely there whimpers.

"Really fuckin' hard for ya, mate." He whispered and you even felt a little smug about how quickly you were riling him up, how easily you could get him gasping like that for you. "My van's parked out back. Wanna come with me?"

He didn't have to ask twice before you were nodding, almost frantically, and it was almost embarrassing how eager you were for it, but he liked it just the same. 

He had shouted something back to his band mates, telling them he'd be in his van if they needed him, but also adding, rather cheekily, to just not to bother him at all, instead.

Murdoc's van was as grimy as you expected it to be, flags and vinyl stickers stuck onto the side panels, all things that were just typical of him. He fumbled in his jean pockets for his keys, assorted keychains dangling from it, a black and red lanyard wrapped around the rings. He unlocked the door and stepped up, reaching out an affectionate hand to help you up the steep step.

Again, it looked exactly the way you would have guessed it looked, the walls covered in horror movie and band posters, floors messy with clothes and beer bottles cluttering each available space, but you didn’t mind it that much. You sat on the bed, looking up at him as he yanked his shirt off.

"Nice place." You said, and he gave you a little smirk.

"Cheers. Bit cozy, I s'pose, but it's alright when there's just one of ya." Light and faded scars decorated the skin just under his pecs and the silver barbels glinted in the low light of the van.

"I...really like your piercings, by the way. Always kinda wanted that done but. Never had the chance to, I s'pose."

"Yeah? I could do it now, if ya wanted." He offered, going over to kneel by his bed. You gave him a dubious look that he smiled back, putting a black lock box in front of you. "Really! I got a kit I use all the time."

"Well." You said hesitantly. "Might regret this in the mornin’ but...go on then, why not."

“Good lad! We need a few regrets in our life or we don’t feel alive, after all.”

You tugged your shirt off of your shoulders and he fished an ice cube from your glass, as if he was arming himself. You laid back on his bed, hands tucked behind your head, keeping your breathing steady as he sat above you, rubbing the ice over your right nipple, doing little in terms of arousal but wonders in terms of numbing your skin and bringing the quickly hardening nub to a sweet, red perk, perfect for piercing. 

The drink provided a heavy fog on your brain, so you were still as giggly and agreeable as you were in the bar, much more agreeable than you would usually be getting a part of you pierced in a grimy van of a quasi-stranger. But this wouldn't have been the weirdest thing you'd done at the end of a night out, and if anything else, you'd come out of it with a vaguely interesting story to tell Paula in the morning, and for her to laugh at, and call you a pillock.

He unpacked the shiny little box with delicate, practiced hands, tugging on a pair of latex gloves and holding up a pair of silver forceps against the light, for you to see properly, and the entire process suddenly felt a little more medical than before (though that wasn’t exactly a bad thing in your case.)

"Ya done this before then?" You asked him through your giggles, and he nodded with a little smirk, cleaning off the forceps with an antibacterial wipe.

"Did most of mine to be fair with ya, mate." He threw away the used wipe to the side and set the forceps down again, moving on to clean a set of needles that you assumed he was going to use. “Few for my bandmates as well though, if they asked nicely enough.”

"That's kinda hot." You mumbled and he let out a dirty little chuckle that made your head dizzy.

"Whatever ya say, sweetheart." 

He reached over for the silver forceps again, moving the dripping ice off of your nipple and gripping at the pert little nub with the clamp. You flinched and hissed as he clenched the tool tighter, pinching harder, and giving it a gentle little tug upwards. The ice before was doing wonders on making your skin feel numb though, as you probably would have been squirming and whimpering for it to stop at this point already in any other circumstance.

"Ya ready?" He asked and you nodded your head. "Might want to look away if ya squeamish though. Breath in for me."

You turned your head to look away, but tried to keep him ever so slightly in your peripheral vision out of curiosity. He lined the sharp, hollow needle up along your nipple, and gently, if you were able to call driving a needle into someone's flesh gentle, pressed the needle inside of you, in through one side and out through the next.

You gasped, gripped your hair and bit your lip hard, squeezed your eyes shut, muttering out harsh little swears when you felt the sharp tip press inside you, and though the initial, intense pain only lasted a few seconds, the dull throbbing pain after the needle was out got more intense as each second passed, and you felt yourself squirming under him, though for some reason he didn’t tell you to stop.

"Fuckin' hell, mate." You said, and even whimpered as he threaded a silver hoop through the delicate little hole that he had just made, cleaning up the tiny drops of blood with a clean wipe, and it stung the abused flesh so much that you swore loudly again.

"See. Wasn't that bad at all, was it?" He asked, tugging the latex gloves off with a little grin, and you let out a little grunt, looking down at the new silver ring that adorned your chest. Despite the dull pain, you smiled, in a sort of proud way, and prodded at it curiously, and the intense pain that came with it was entirely deserved.

“Don’t touch it, ya walnut!” He scolded, removing a black X-shaped plaster from a box, and peeling the backing off of it. “Keep it covered for a few days, then soak it in saltwater, else it’s gonna get infected.” He pressed the plaster over the ring, smoothing it down on your skin. “But if it does, guess that’s a reason to come back here, ain’t it?”

“I’ll come back, don’t worry about that.” You said with a cheeky little smile. “Thanks for this though, it’s proper cool. Always wanted my nipple done.”

“Not at all.” He said, putting his kit back under his bed, and leaning up on the bed again, a sudden almost dark smile on his face. “Though, how are ya gonna pay me back for this, exactly?”

You leant up a bit, biting on your lip and steepling your fingers, glancing up at him innocently. "Ah. Well. Ya see, my friend back at the bar has my wallet with her and I mean. She's probably busy with that girl she was talkin' to. And, I mean, I'd be the worst wingman ever if I interrupted her, ya know how it is, don't you?"

"Oh, of course." He said, kneeling up on the bed and looming over you, almost straddling your chest. "But I still need payin', mate. Can't just do shit for free, after all." You nodded hesitantly and he grinned down at you, teeth exposed and dark. "So how ya gonna pay me then, nancy boy?"

"Well..." You said, keeping innocent. "I mean, I could eat you out, if ya want. I'm pretty good at that, everyone tells me I am."

"Ohhh, everyone tells ya now, do they?" He asked, voice low and dangerous and so so beautiful that it was almost shaking you to pieces. He unzipped his jeans slowly, tugged them down, and you were practically drooling at the fact that he wasn't wearing any underwear and you got a faceful of black pubic hair, his clit standing up proud for you to see. "Let's see if you're any good then, shall we?"

He then, for lack of a better word, sat on your face, though it was hardly a surprise since you were already ready for him, quick to start pressing your tongue deep inside his folds, lapping at him desperately as he grinded his hips down against your mouth, pressing his hands through your hair, pulling and tugging, groaning out loud as you devoured him fast and hard. 

You wrapped your arms around his thighs, clinging onto him as you ate him out, pressing most of the bottom half of your face against his cunt, tongue digging inside of him, occasionally lapping at his clit, sucking on the engorged little nub, and fucking hell, you loved all of his desperate little sounds, the way he gripped your hair tighter, the way he grinded his hips down even harder, rutting against you.

"Fuck, suck my dick some more, babe, I'm so hard for ya." He slurred, scratching at your scalp, and you couldn't help but suck on his clit even more, harder, just so he would let out even more of those lovely sounds, and when he let out a deep, heady moan just for you to hear, that was reward enough, didn't even need to think about how hard your dick was aching under your skirt and tights, even though you were so turned on just for him it was making your headache.

To your surprise though, he shifted on top of you, switching directions, and though this didn't initially impact your dedication to fucking him with your tongue into climax, his slow, gradual kneading at the ache in your underwear was making you tremble a little underneath him, and your dedication ever so slightly compromised.

"Ya already hard for me, babe?" He asked and you made a small sound of recognition against his cunt. He let out a little hum of appreciation, hands slipped under your skirt, fingers circling the holes and ladders in your tights affectionately, stroking your bare skin. "Could do somethin' about it. If ya want me to?" Made the same sound against him, and he ripped through your tights with ease, asserting his dominance over you, clear as crystal. Tucked your panties down with ease, freeing your dick and giving it a teasing stroke, making you moan even more against him. 

“Look at the lovely dick.” He crooned, shifting against you, taking a tight grip on it, easing the foreskin down and showing off the dripping slit. “Want me to suck it, darlin’? I wanna make you feel good as well, you’re doin’ so well already.” You whined desperately against him and he chuckled softly. “So good for me.” And ducked his head down, giving the head of your dick a slow, teasing lap, just over the slit, and it felt so warm and good that waiting all night for just the slightest amount of attention suddenly felt worth it. 

He lowered his head then, taking more of you inside of his mouth and your hips suddenly involuntarily jutted underneath him, pressing your dick deeper down his throat but he didn't even hesitate to take in more of you, as if he was used to it, used to the weight of dick on his tongue, he was so much more experienced than you, so much older, and your head was swimming.

His throat felt so tight and so fucking good against your dick, that it was hard not to stop eating him out and just fuck his mouth until you came on his tongue, down his throat, watch him swallow it all down just for you.

Maybe you had a dominant streak sometimes, but rarely were you able to actually play out your fantasies. Not like you minded or anything though. Submissive was a role that fit you to a tee after all.

You continued like that for you didn't know how long, you underneath him, devouring his cunt, sucking on his clit, him deep throating your dick with such practiced ease, hollowing his cheeks, his throat so beautifully tight against you, so good and so warm, it took every ounce of your self control to cum, right there. The taste of him on your tongue was pure heaven as well, and you eagerly pressed yourself against his musk, enveloping yourself completely in him, like it was the only thing you wanted, the only thing you were good for.

His rutting became quick and desperate and he gripped onto your legs tightly, a muffled murmuring sounding against your dick, shaking vibrations through your body, and though he wasn't able to warn you, you knew what was coming next.

He came against your tongue with a deep groan, a bitter gush of liquid seeping from your tongue and down your chin, and you lapped at him slowly, gently, in a weak attempt clean him up, though you did have ulterior motives, of course, loving the way he shook against you, loving the way he twitched and spasmed uselessly, and you had him in the palm of your hand for just a second..

You weren't long after him though, thankfully, cumming down his throat, without warning him first either, but he didn't seem mind much, swallowing you down without any kind of complaint.

He got off of you once he was done, lying down next to you, and when you turned to look at him, he gave you a tired little smile in response, leaning in close.

"Well. S'pose that was alright." He murmured and you scoffed a little in spite of yourself.

"Just alright?" You said, acting as if you were offended. "Thought I was a bit better than just 'alright'." He laughed and gave your chest a little prod.

"Yeah yeah, just don't want you t'get a big head, nancy boy." He wrapped an arm around your shoulder affectionately, and you pressed your head into the crook of his neck. "Ya stayin' the night then?" He asked, and you nodded your head.

"If it's alright?"

"Yeah, more than alright." He said, stroking through your hair. "What about your friend though?"

"Pretty sure she's busy herself." You murmured. "She won't mind."

"Well, either way." Tracing the hoops and studs through your ears. "If ya stay, there'll probably a round two, if ya want it."

"Absolutely." 

"Good lad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> paula is entirely motivated by the promise of cute girls and honestly i can relate
> 
> also the bit where murdoc throws his packer off the stage is genuinely one of my favourite exchanges i've written. i like the dialogue in this. very wholesome, very pure
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	19. Just Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 19: edging  
> second person, from 2D's perspective

It always started out innocent with the two of you. Like it was a game or something.

You had gone upstairs to help with his taxidermy this time specifically, though you didn't really know what any of it meant or what he exactly did, so you mostly just kept him company, made idle conversation, told him that what he was doing was impressive and really cool, told him he should enter some of his stuff to galleries or something, and he'd always look sheepish and embarrassed, ever humble, and just shake his head, insisting it wasn't nearly good enough for that, it was just silly stuff he did to calm his nerves.

It would quickly make a turn though, when he would stop working and you'd put on a film for the two of you to watch in a way to pass the time, and he'd let you, even though he didn't like zombie films or any of the silly horror movies that you put into the DVD player each week, just because he liked seeing you happy and you'd spent the afternoon with him trying to do the same thing even though you didn't have to.

And he always found a way to distract himself from the cartoonish gore and bad acting anyway.

-

He kissed you nicer than anyone else ever did, always let you warm up to it first before pushing it any further. That was something you always noticed when you were with him.

You were in his lap, your hands clasped in his, fingers interlocked, legs wrapped around his waist, already rutting hard against him, desperate for his touch against you. He slipped your jeans down with ease, and palmed you gently, stroking over your hips and down your ass, down your thighs, pulling them apart so you could straddle him properly, the way you had been taught.

He stroked your dick gently as he kissed you, and you loved that touch that was so delicate and gentle from years of precise sewing and sculpting, truly nothing less than the touch of an artist as he touched you, and you wanted to feel him against you so badly.

"Russ." You practically fucking whined as he kissed your cheek, down your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders, shivering against him. "Wanna see ya. Please, let me."

"Cool it, 'D, you'll get it." He said, his voice as gentle and cool as ever, remaining as controlled and collected as he always was, as if you weren't rutting naked against him, as if you weren't even there. Oh, but he paid so much attention to you, kissing your shivering body so softly and stroking you when you shook that you knew that all of his attention was on you, because you were there, and he loved seeing you there, in his lap, your dick ever desperate for him, even though he was taking his sweet time in touching it. 

You flinched and froze against him when he kneaded at your ass with gentle hands, spreading you apart, and pressing a finger teasingly against the tight ring of muscle. You would have taken it for him, if that's what he wanted. You'd taken far worse after all. But Russ would have never done that, he would have never forced you to take something that would have hurt you, caused you any discomfort.

He was perfect.

Everything you could have ever wanted or needed.

No, he simply stroked over it, down your taint and over your dick, finally touching you after what seemed like ages of waiting for him, and you moaned out for him, whining his name, and he gripped you tight as almost a reward for such good behaviour. You were almost smiling like a dope, like you were in a dream like state, as you bucked your hips against him, desperate for more of those wonderful touches.

"Lookin' so pretty, baby boy. Love seein' that dick so nice an' hard for me." He said, pressing more kisses against your neck, and you let out a shaky sigh because his words and his touches were getting to your head so, so quickly, making you shudder on top of him, and he gripped you tighter, jerking you off so slowly, slow enough for it to be on the beautiful line between deliciously pleasurable and intensely torturous.

You loved that line more than anything.

"Russ." You gasped out, gripping at his shirt as you bucked harder into his grip, an affectionate thumb smearing pre-cum over your throbbing head and weeping slit, and he was smiling like he was looking at something beautiful, something untouched and undamaged. He made you feel like you still were those things. Made you feel like something again.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him, burying your head against his shoulder, just desperate to climax and maybe beg him to let you suck him off or for him to fuck you, even though he never asked for anything other than the satisfaction of getting you off so quickly and easily.

You mumbled out that you were close and you were going to cum, gripping onto his shirt, but the hand on your dick receded, and he was back to groping your ass, like he was teasing you. 

You pulled back from your tight cling to look at him, your expression speaking volumes about your confusion enough, and he chuckled, pressing an affectionate hand to your cheek.

"You're so pretty when you gotta cum, 'D. Jus' thought I'd draw it out. No harm, right?" He asked, almost in a mischievous way, and you nodded hesitantly, though you didn't quite understand what he meant. He pulled you back into his arms, and simply returned to the idle stroking, long enough for you to cool down and inch back from your limit, and even though it annoyed you to be brought so close, only to be pulled back, you didn’t want to say anything, lest it ruin this perfect exchange.

It was a few more moments of the simple strokes and kisses though, before his hand was on your dick again, stroking over your still weeping slit, though it felt just a bit more sensitive now, like you were overworked and you just wanted the job done. It was whatever though, since the sensations felt just the same as before, and nearly reaching your climax still felt just as good.

That was, before, he pulled away from you again.

"Ya can't keep doin' that!" You said, and your outrage made him smile and laugh affectionately, and though you were facing away from him defiantly, he pulled you back into his arms, slowly stroking over your nipples and doing even more to arouse you just that little bit more. "I mean it..." You said through your stifled moans, trembling from the intense pleasure from all the right places in your body. "Ain't nice."

"Really don't like it?" He asked, though it almost didn't sound like a real question, giving your nipples a teasing little tug and an affectionate rub when he had made them sore. "Sure ya just ain't pissed cus you're not gettin' your own way."

"Never get my own way anyway." You mumbled and he pressed a soft kiss to your ear as he stroked down further down your stomach, petting the snail trail and practically ignoring your now aching dick, despite your wordless protests.

"I know." He said softly, touching you slowly again, soft fingers running up your length and you threw your head back against him, nearly crying out because the touch was getting so intense against you. "Shhhh, shh, I know baby, I know it feels good." Another kiss at your ear. "Tell me how good it feels, 'D. Wanna hear ya say it yourself."

"Fuckin' hell, Russ." Your whines were practically cries this point, as he dragged his fingers over your head, giving it a gentle rub. "Fuck! It hurts, it hurts..." You're babbling at this point, and when he slowed down, you felt the anguish even more.

"Ya want me t'stop?" He asked, his voice low, and you shook your head desperately, head falling back against him, biting down on his lip. "Still feels good, don't it, baby?"

"Yes, fuck, it feels so good." Your voice was shaking and you were finding it hard not to spasm or shudder as he gripped tighter again, jerking you off slowly and drinking in all your sounds and reactions, like he himself was desperate to see you.

"I'll let ya cum this time, baby, you've been so good for me already, haven't you?" Nuzzling against your hair, he quickens his speed a little, and your breathing was almost unsteady because of how good it felt to finally get close to release and have it promised to you.

"I'm good." You slurred out, gripping hard onto him.

"Yeah, baby boy, so good. You're so pretty in my arms, 'D, love havin' you like this." You were so close now you could barely stand it. "You're doin' so well, holdin' on so perfectly for me. Just perfect, aren't ya?"

"Russ, 'm gonna cum..." You whimpered and his pace doesn't stop, he's unrelenting, determined to make you cum just for him, and you were never one to let anyone down, especially in situations like this.

You cried out loud, tipping your head back and arching your back, and when you came, it shot up your front and stained you with white, viscous and dripping already.

He slowed down into a gentle stop, and kept holding you close, kissing your hair and down your neck, in an attempt to stop you from shaking and trembling, keeping you warm, reassuring you that someone was there that wasn't going to leave. 

Your tremors stopped eventually and you stopped shaking in his arms, and he's already looking back over at the bad zombie film, and you do the same even though you've missed your favourite part.

Russel never asked for anything in return, didn't expect it from you, never did anything thinking about a payback. Maybe he didn't like it, maybe he just wasn't interested, you didn't know. But you liked the intimacy you had together, liked the moments afterwards where it was almost like the act hadn't happened, but without any guilt or shame about it, the sex reduced down to acts of kindness and deep feelings and pure love and respect for each other. You brought his hands up to your face and kissed them gently, as if you were thanking the world for gifting you someone like Russel with each kiss.

He chuckled and ruffled your hair affectionately, and he didn't need to say anything else. There was never a reason for any more words to be said between the two of you.

You were connected to him in a way you'd never been before.

So this was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> russ2D is a blessing of a pairing and i will not hear any words against it. it is purity among the cesspool of bad 
> 
> people over on my blog have been askin for a threesome fic of the gorillaz boiz as well so i'm just trying to warm up to writing russel 
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	20. Rabbit in the Headlights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 20: petplay  
> second person, from 2D's perspective, trans 2D

You had a photoshoot booked for today, that's what you'd been told over the breakfast table that morning anyway.

A solo gig, for a magazine or a blog or a website or something along those lines. They all tended to blur into one in your head anyway, and they were never arranged any differently. Maybe the magazine shoots were slightly more intense and quick, more people in suits yelling at younger interns and you had a better buffet table to snack on afterwards, but all the poses were generic and similar, and they essentially asked you to do the same things you did in every shoot, so you couldn't be blamed for thinking they were all essentially the same thing.

While it was a solo gig though, Murdoc insisted that he accompany you, as your representative he said, though Russel and Noodle couldn't care less about his insistence or his reasoning, probably pleased to have you both out of their hair (or lack thereof in Russel's case) and out of the studio, able to enjoy the opportunity of having a day to themselves to do whatever.

When you got to the studio, which was on the nicer side of Essex, a girl with dyed blue hair and tight black clothes introduced herself as Vector, smiled at you, told you how much she had loved Demon Days and your vocals on it. You smiled sheepishly and said thanks, told her you loved her hair colour, which started a conversation between the two of you, something that Murdoc clearly didn't care much for, as he went outside for a cigarette while you two got better acquainted.

"So, is he your..." She started, leaning over her tripod, and you shook your head, obviously knowing the direction she was going down.

"No, no, jus'...band mates, I suppose." You said, unsure how to exactly explain your situation with him to a bystander. Couldn’t really say that you were platonic fuckmates but you weren’t allowed to look at anyone else and he could do whatever you wanted, but you didn’t mind because you were still hopelessly in love with him. Didn’t roll off the tongue quite as easily as just “boyfriend.”

"Don't suppose that would mean you were free to get a drink with me after this was over, does it?" She asked and you liked her boldness, her confidence, and you liked the way she carried herself so effortlessly. She was in her element and she was exactly where she belonged as a photographer, so you shrugged your shoulders cryptically, smiled over at her. 

"I dunno, maybe." Not saying yes or no. Keep your options open. She grinned at the possibility, showing off a shiny, gold canine, and shit, it had been a while since someone had been able to wobble your composure so quickly, and you remembered why you had liked it so much.

Murdoc joined the two of you again in the photography studio, smelling of heavy tobacco again, and that alerted Vector to stop the conversation between the two of you, despite you telling her that you weren't going out, clearly she just got a different energy off of him when he was actually in the room.

An energy that clearly you didn't get yourself. 

"So, what's this shoot for exactly?" She asked him, not you, because he always knew what you were doing more than you actually did.

"Just a ,embers exclusive perk on the forum we run." He said, throwing an black opaque plastic bag in your direction, which you caught on the first go, thank you very much. Leaning back on one of the white counters full of equipment with a little smirk. "They're always askin' for more content of 2D after all, so thought I'd give 'em some." 

Vector clearly didn't think anything of what he said, didn't see anything unusual about the situation at all, by the way she continued to set up her cameras and the big white lights but when you caught his eye, looking over at you while she set up, you saw a familiar look of mischief in his eyes. You were unsure as to what he had planned for you, but usually, at least when you were dealing with Murdoc, you had to plan for the unusual. 

You went silently into the tiny dressing room that the studio had provided while Murdoc and Vector talked between themselves some more, locked the door behind you, and tugged your shirt off, your trousers down, wondering what he could possibly have had in mind with this photoshoot, especially if it was going to be a member's exclusive, with a pay wall in front of it and all. What would be good enough for someone to have paid to have seen it? You had no idea.

When you had undressed, you opened the plastic bag up and tipped it out into the tiny grey sofa that stood just in front of a body length mirror, and sifted through everything that had been inside it.

A blue spandex playsuit, with button snappers at the crotch, for easy access you assumed, no sleeves, meant to be held up just by your lack of a cleavage. Black nylon tights, new, no holes or ladders (yet). White cotton shirt cuffs without a shirt attached to them, fake cufflinks holding them together that hid similar button snappers that were on the jumpsuit. A white collar, again without a shirt attached to it, with a black bowtie to hide the buttons. A pair of satiny bunny ears on a thin headband. When you picked the playsuit up and turned it over in your hands, you saw a white cotton tail on the back, where it would go against your tailbone, like it was supposed to.

He was getting you to dress as a fucking Playboy bunny. 

You had half a mind to just storm out of there, throw the bag back in his stupid face and leave. What a twat, not even telling you what you were doing in the first place, as if he just expected that you would do it, because you were just that gullible. You folded your arms and let out an irritated huff, as if you were voicing your outrage to no-one in particular though, sat down on the sofa and strongly debated for a good twenty seconds as to whether or not you should just get changed back into your street clothes and tell him you weren't doing it, refuse to go along with his voyeuristic little games, actually stand up for yourself for once in your bloody life.

But you weren't like that, were you? 

No, you weren’t intimidating or head strong. You wouldn’t be able to argue with him for a second before you had a meltdown or something.

No.

You liked these ridiculous little games that he played with you, even if you hated admitting it to yourself. You liked pleasing him, liked when he was always so impressed with you because even if he pushed you as far as you would go, you'd always bounce back and respond to it exactly the way he wanted.

You pressed your face into your hands, almost trying to hide the furious blushing from yourself, every part of your head making arguments that all seemed to cancel each other out and resounded to just put on the tights.

They went on first, over your tight briefs, over your packer, and you were impressed that they were actually long enough to fit you properly, since that had always been an issue with wearing tights in the past. The playsuit was on next, pulling down over your head, adjusted against your non-existent cleavage and buttoned against your crotch, inconspicuously, where they wouldn’t be seen. You turned around in the mirror and saw that the tail was exactly where it should have been, and for some reason, that made you happy in a weird sort of way. 

Cuffs and collar came on next, and they buttoned into place with relative ease and without any kind of trial and error. 

You stood in front of the mirror, trying to sort your wild rat's nest of a haircut into something slightly more manageable, and perched the bunny ears gently among the spikes, vaguely surprised that it looked much more normal that you had anticipated. You smoothed down the spandex, looking at yourself from as many angles as you could, just trying to see what you looked like, what you would look like in any of the photos.

You let out a little sigh, and put your boots back on, since you hadn't been provided with any kind of high heel or stiletto which was more typical for a Playboy bunny, though maybe not for one that was nearly six foot three already.

When you were out of the dressing room, Murdoc clapped his hands together in delight, laughing at you, as if he couldn't believe that you had actually done it. Vector seemed vaguely unbothered though, as if she had seen this all the time, though to be fair when you were a photographer coming out of Camden, she probably had seen stuff like this before numerous times.

"Right." She said. "What're we doin' then? Regular old solo shoot?" Directed towards you for a change. You looked over to Murdoc and when he nodded, you did the same. "Get into the studio space then, luv, and we'll get started from there."

You never liked being in studio spaces that much. Thought the lights were too bright and that against the stark contrast of the white walls hurt your head. But at least there wasn't any bass music or any managers trying to rush you along, or pushy photographers annoyed at you for not fulfilling their visions. No, this was a bit better. Even if you were dressed as a bloody rabbit.

"I'm tellin' ya, mate, all the girls are gonna go nuts over this shoot!" Murdoc piped up from behind Vector, staring at you with an amused look on his face, as if he was oh so proud of himself. "Bet we'll even get some more members on the forum, eh?"

"Ya can't do that right after we released an album!" You said, pulling at the crotch of the playsuit, trying to make your packer look a bit less fake under the tight spandex. "They've only just paid for somethin' new from us, don't need somethin' else."

"So you'd prefer to release 'em for free?" He asked. And you kept silent, because really, you'd prefer if they weren't released at all, but there was no sense in arguing with him when he had his mind on something already. He smirked in a satisfied way and left Vector's side, standing to the side to watch you and her at work.

-

The shoot had gone by fairly uneventfully though, since Vector had decided to pay little to no attention towards Murdoc's directions and more so following her own route, her own vision, with occasional suggestions and quips out of you. She told you that you were obviously the main selling feature of the shoot, a photographer was useless without their muse, their model, after all and told you that she valued your input about each photo as much as she valued her own.

You had to admit, you sort of liked having vague control over something, especially when Murdoc was being ignored just to favour your ideas specifically.

And you still did kind of like her. 

So you mostly just took photos that weren't unlike any of your other photoshoots, you smiling cheekily at the camera like you usually did, full of a weird kind of confidence, generic poses she showed you that were simple enough for you to understand and remember. Even getting a bit risque with a plush stuffed carrot, stuffing it between your legs like a pseudo-phallus, and a photo where you were craning your neck up for it like you were desperate for a bite. Just funny, stupid stuff of that caliber. Stuff your fans would like anyway.

When you had finished a slightly raunchier set, Murdoc motioned for Vector to stop, took her aside for a private conversation that you clearly weren't supposed to listen up on (even though you tried). He said something, she said something, he reached for his wallet and gave her a tenner, which she tucked into her jeans, and turned back to her tripod. 

Vector set her camera down and asked you if you wanted to go with her on a smoking break, and while you were never usually one to turn down a cigarette, especially when you were supposed to be working, for some reason, you said no this time. Mostly because you didn't want to stand outside in a bunny outfit, but that was the only reason, you swore. She shrugged, asked Murdoc if he, by any chance, wanted to join her, and he said no as well, again, highly out of character for him, but she didn't make a comment about it or anything, so she left you to it, fiddling in her bag for a pack of fags and leaving the studio.

You stayed sat in the middle of the space, picking at the floating strings on the plush carrot, not paying much attention to your surroundings until Murdoc was stepping closer towards you, Vector's camera in his hands, and stopping in front of you, where he loomed over you in an almost threatening kind of way. 

"Did pretty well with that shoot, didn't ya?" He asked absentmindedly, though when you moved to stand up, he pressed the sole of his boot down on your thigh. Not in a way to hurt, no, just in a way to keep you pinned down for him. "Yeah, got on quite well with that photographer. Almost seemed like you were flirtin' with her at one point."

"Murdoc, it ain't like that." You mumbled, looking down so not to have any kind of eye contact when you felt so guilty.

"Oh, I know it ain't like that. Wanna know how I know?" Shook your head but he was going to tell you anyway. "'Cus I'm pretty sure she won't be as interested in ya when she finds out that little thing down there is made of plastic." A nudge at your packer with the tip of his boot and you glared at him, more irritated than you probably should be.

"She might be! If I was even flirtin', which I wasn't." A near shout, shoving his foot off your crotch. "And lots of girls don't mind it these days. Very modern."

"Right right, so you weren't flirting?" Shook your head again. "No, of course not, you just act that way with everyone, don't you? Callin' people pet names, sayin' they're "well fit" and shit like that, right?" 

Okay, maybe you had been flirting a little bit.

But only when you thought Murdoc wasn't looking! And it wasn't like your relationship was carrying any weight with him anyway, he flirted with everyone, and you never said anything to stop him. So what, maybe you did get a little bit bitter sometimes, watching him do those kind of things. Maybe you wanted a bit of payback.

Though maybe you were more male than you thought, and you just wanted to get with a cute girl who liked you.

You must have looked guilty though, because he let out a cynical laugh, pressing his foot down harder on your thigh. 

"So transparent, 'Dents." He said. "Couldn't wait until I left the room perhaps? Or did you want to just rub my face in it?"

"You do it all the time. I see you do it." Still down at the floor. "I get jealous, alright. There's nothin' wrong with that." 

"The difference between us though, mate, is that you don't own me." Bringing his face down close to your's, a hand on your chin, forcing you to make eye contact with him. "And I own every single part of you. Wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for me, would ya? Still be in that shitty little keyboard shop in Crawley, fuckin' a girl who cheats on you and overmedicatin' your stupid little head." Boot moving to press down on your crotch. "Keep that in mind next time y'flirtin' with someone, alright, mate? 'Cus I made you, an' I can break you just as easily."

His words shook something deep in your core, and you were reduced down to trembling below him, the way he always liked seeing you most. You didn't have the room to apologise though, before he was speaking again.

"Now, let's see what that stupid head of yours can do, shall we?" Raising Vector's camera again, and peering down on you through the viewfinder.

You looked at him for a few moments, unsure of what he wanted you to do exactly, and he let out an exasperated huff at your incompetence, the camera dropping again. 

"Ya dressed as a bunny, aren't ya?" He said, and you nodded your head. "So be a bunny for me. Stick your paws up for me, let me see ya actually tryin'."

"Murdoc, come on." Cheeks burning with embarrassment, suddenly feeling stupid that you didn't notice this was coming from the very beginning. "Vector’s just outside, an’ this is embarrassin' enough already."

"See, last time I checked, bunnies didn't talk." His voice was practically sing song, stroking through your hair and over the headband perched on your head so delicately, stroking over the fake ears sprouting from it, rubbing at them as if you could feel it yourself.

“Murdoc...”

“Ah!” Raised a finger up to his lips in a shushing motion, and you quickly shut up. “If you do as you’re told, ya might get a treat. Even though you’ve been so naughty. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

The way he was talking to you was quickly starting to unnerve you, like he was talking to an actual pet, but you liked being good for him and you liked the rewards he would give you for being so good, so you keened up against him, desperate for him to stroke you some more, in a motion that was more fitting of a cat than a bunny, sure, but he liked it all the same, kept stroking you, soft touches in your hair where you liked it the most, and you made a soft sound at the back of your throat, again, not something that would fit a bunny but it didn’t bother him.

"That's a good boy." He crooned. "Put ya paws up for me then, darlin'."

And though the shame and embarrassment ate at your gut, you put your hands up, the little white cuffs around your wrists almost looking like a form of bondage, your fists clenched in a weak motif of paws, a shaky, uncertain smile on your face, kneeling up for his attention and if the tail on the back of your playsuit was actually attached to you, it would be wagging. Or whatever rabbits did.

He grinned and stroked you again, making you keen closer to him, hands on his knees. He still held the camera, but it wasn’t there to serve as anything other than a weak threat, a reminder of the attractive photographer you were no longer thinking about.

He started to unbuckle his belt with his free hand, a move so practiced that he did with ease, and unbuttoned his jeans, tugging them down with his boxers. You saw the familiar glint of his piercing under his foreskin, though for some reason, it seemed like a reinforcement that you hadn't done enough yet, you hadn't fulfilled your purpose yet.

"Get on your back." He said, one hand gripping his dick and the other still holding Vector's camera, that threat still ever looming there. "Wanna see ya play with yourself."

You stared up at him, trying to gauge whether or not he was being serious, but his expression didn't shift. Funny though, since you most have looked like a picturesque rabbit in the headlights. Very apt.

You took your hands (paws?) off his knees and shifted back a little, in an attempt to make some room for yourself. Stroking at yourself through the jumpsuit and tights would have normally been enough to get you horny, but the thick packer was in the way, especially chosen for the shoot, and you were going to have to take it off.

You popped the snappers on the jumpsuit and pulled your tights and briefs down to your knees, removing the packer but also removing any kind of barrier against your cunt, any kind of protection. But you took a steady breath and pressed your fingers against yourself, almost ashamed by how wet you were already. You kept your thighs clamped shut, however, not giving him any kind of satisfaction of seeing you, seeing how hard your clit was already.

"Aw, ya feelin' a bit shy, bunny?" 

But he was always good at reading your intentions. And picking them apart just as easily.

You made a gentle squeaking sound at the back of your throat, still unsure of what sound you should make for him exactly, and he smirked down at you, predatory, like he was a fox looming over a helpless rabbit caught in a trap.

That idea was oddly fitting when you thought about it though.

He took a few slow steps towards you, his boots heavy against the linoleum floor of the studio, shaking something deep inside you, and stood over you. Raised a foot to move your hand away, push your thighs apart without him even putting any effort into it. Expose your cunt for him just to see. He let out a dirty little chuckle and the flash from Vector's camera went off, his previous threat suddenly becoming reality. Stroking through your hair again, almost as if he was trying to calm you down.

"Oh, but you're already so hard for me, aren't you?" His foot against your crotch again, almost digging in, grinding down on your aching cunt. Smirked when you rutted against him anyway, because he was always so good at controlling you. "Look at that lovely, little dick." Voice low and dangerous. He stopped stroking you, and his hand goes back to gripping at his dick, quickly hardening in his grasp. Just from looking at you. Might have made you feel powerful once, but it barely felt like anything now.

"Come on now, sweetheart, don't be shy." 

You guessed that maybe it was typical for a bunny to be shy, especially when they were being looked at with the kind of intent that Murdoc had, but you parted your thighs slowly, and pressed your fingers back inside yourself, only allowing him that much, it was enough for now.

He seemed satisfied with it though, as he gripped himself tighter, jerking himself off as he watched you pressing your fingers in and out of yourself, catching yourself up by watching him so intently, caught up in a vicious cycle.

Didn't help that he was egging you on with dirty talk too, and you were unable to talk back to him, lest it break the role that he had assigned for you. A good little bunny kept quiet after all, never made a fuss, seen and not heard etcetera. And you could fulfill that role for him, if he pet you and called you a good boy when you did things right, didn't scold you too much if you got anything wrong.

Perhaps this would be something to explore further, you being a pet for him, no longer considered a partner, no, a partner was much to sophisticated a term for you. You didn't deserve anything like that, didn't even deserve to be looked at like you were a person. 

You were no better than an animal, a rabbit desperate for a mate to impregnate you, fulfill the one purpose you had been given. But no, you'd be useless at that as well now, since you'd rendered your one saving grace useless after years of hormone treatments and surgery. 

Truly, you barely deserved to even be a pet for him.

Even that was too good for you. 

You were getting closer to your edge, your mouth open and your tongue slack, panting, much like a dog would, despite it not being befitting of your role. He didn't seem to mind though, set the camera down long ago and took a handful of your hair, bringing your face closer to his dick as he jerked off in your face. 

"Sweet fuckin' Satan, love that stupid look on your face." He crooned, his head tipped back and his jerks suddenly off tempo, erratic, like he was getting closer. "Fuck, you're just my brainless little bunny, aren't ya?" You nodded your head, even though he couldn't see, making little sounds of agreement as you keened up for his dick, almost willing him to stick it down your throat and fuck your face until you couldn't breath. Until you couldn't think. Until you really were brainless. 

He gripped your hair tight and came on your face, as your body spasmed and you squirted against your fingers, coating them in fluid the way your face dripped viscous cum, in a way that felt foul and disgusting when you weren't in the moment, and a way that almost comforted you when you were. When your tongue was still out, you could taste it when it dripped over your lips, and fuck, you almost moaned when it fell on your tongue.

"Like your treat then, bunny?" He said, stroking through your hair and you nodded, keening up closer to him, making him smile and stroke at the space behind your ears in a way that actually did feel pretty good. "There we go, you like being stroked, don't you? Such a good boy."

_ I am a good boy. _

_ I'm good. _

_ So good for you. _

_ I love being a good bunny, just for you. _

_ I'll be your pet. _

_ Won't ever look at anyone again. _

_ I'm yours. _

_ Only yours.  _

He didn't say anything after that. 

Let you stand up and clean yourself up. Let you put your street clothes back on and pretend that none of it had ever happened. Left the pictures on Vector's camera for her to find, and you assumed she'd just delete the ones that he took without any kind of complaint, get the message loud and clear that you weren't available for anyone. 

You know that you'd gotten the message anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i passed up getting drunk to write this shit lads ya'll better appreciate me like fuq
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	21. Reintroduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 21: gloryhole  
> second person, from murdoc's perspective, oc is named

It was your first night out in London alone. October, a date close to Halloween if you remembered right.

That wasn’t to say you hadn’t been out at all, oh no, you weren’t a total loser.

You'd been out with your new flatmates a couple of times, accompanied them to clubs near your student accommodation flatblock where it was safe and you could stumble home easily once you were absolutely plastered without much worry of getting mugged or anything. And it was fun. Even though the music was crap and you generally stuck around with the girls in the group because they'd always start crying about their boyfriends back home and how they hadn’t sent any letters or tried to call and needed vague comforting, and all the lads in the group were basically idiots who drunk far too much and sing shitty football chants among themselves, which didn’t help the girls in the slightest.

Maybe this was because you were the oldest one of the group but being around the fresh faced eighteen year olds, living on their parents money and studying as a means of putting off work for three more years was exhausting. 

And you were quickly running out of your savings, despite working all summer to afford the life in London that you wanted.

Since you'd left Vince back in Stoke-on-Trent, you didn't have anyone with any kind of contacts anymore. Not that you wanted to go back to having someone like that, no, didn’t want any kind of person controlling you like that again, but you had to admit, it did make things easier. You didn't have to be so direct about it. Didn’t have to meet anyone face to face unless you knew they were paying for it.

You'd scribbled your pseudonym (better safe than sorry, that’s what Dad always said) and a safe number (a landline that you were paying extra for, no less) onto bus stops and phone boxes near your flat several times, just to try and advertise yourself a little, but there hadn't been any calls yet. The bloke from July hadn't gotten back to you about his divorced co-worker either, so there was no promise of any kind of stability or easy road.

You could have gotten a regular job, yeah, but the last time you had one of those, you'd gotten sacked for mouthing off to a customer and what's worse, you did the same to the manager when she sacked you, telling her she could stick the job up her ass and throwing your uniform in her face. No chance of a good reference after that.

You were abrasive. So what. People liked that about you, liked that you didn’t take any shit and always fought back when they wanted you to.

Well, Vince liked it anyway. Clients liked it.

People in the real world weren’t nearly as forgiving.

So you figured, after all your fruitless advertising and genuine day's worth of consideration of if you should just stand on a street corner like the good old days and risk the chance of getting arrested, that maybe you'd find someone who'd pay you for a quick fuck in a back alley or a blowie in a taxi at a club.

A gay club, more specifically.

You had gotten the idea from a more abrasive client way back when, who had complained about your prices, told you that he'd gotten a blow job for a tenner at a glory hole once. You had asked him, quite cheekily as well, if it had been any good, he insisted that it was, and then you asked him if the stranger had called him Daddy and let him spunk on their face and let him take pictures of it so he could wank off to it in the future and he had said no, a bit more embarrassed that time. So don't complain about my prices, you said, and he didn't complain about them anymore. Mostly because you had your mouth on his knob and he couldn’t make words anymore, but he did leave you with a rather hefty tip for your good service.

So that was fun.

You were sure you could probably give a better performance at a gloryhole than anyone else though, practically considered yourself a professional at this point, so you were going to work for your tenner. Maybe more if you felt like you deserved it, and a stranger behind a wall was feeling generous.

A low-key place in Soho. Looked fairly busy when you stood in the queue outside of it, lots of fellas talking amongst themselves, arms around shoulders, kisses on cheeks. Maybe you’d get that one day, but it wasn’t something on your mind right now. Just needed enough food to get through the week first.

You had paid extra to get into one of the nicer clubs. Only five pounds, and you weren't planning to drink so the evening out wasn't going to cost much. It was an investment, you told yourself. The bouncer asked to see your ID, raised his eyebrow when he saw you were actually nineteen, even had the cheek to ask where your group was. Not in a group. Flying solo tonight. He was nice about it though, told you to keep yourself safe, not to get plastered when you were by yourself, though you didn’t say anything back. People shouldn’t get involved with your business when you weren’t asking for it.

It wasn't your scene though, that's what you found out. And this wasn’t going to be somewhere you frequented at all.

You didn't like the music, that was the first thing you knew for certain, and something that was very important when it came to bars and venues that you spent your time and your money at, something that you highly prioritized. There weren't any lyrics or even any clear instruments to the shit they were playing here. Just repetitive pounding, drum and bass, something you listened to when you were off your tits on ecstasy or something like that. Absolutely not your kind of listening and not your style at all.

Whatever. You weren't here for the atmosphere anyway.

You saw a flashing neon sign that indicated the bathroom on the other side of the club, over the flashing lights and heaving bodies on the dance floor, pushed yourself through the crowd to get over to it, and because of your height, people didn't seem to care that much when you did it either. That was one of the perks of being barely five foot six without your heels on. 

When you got into the bathroom, you were honestly fairly surprised that it wasn't busier. A bloke in white jeans and a string vest stood in front of a urinal and two lads snogged and groped each other heavily against the other tiled wall. You ignored them though and resounded to taking the middle stall, locking it behind you. 

The walls were covered in scribbled numbers, witty and camp graffiti ("Ban Hetero Marriage" was your favourite) and scrawled doodles of penises kept you interested and kept your head fairly busy until someone entered the bathroom and locked the stall next to your's, gave the wall between you a little knock with their knuckle, alerting you out of your zoning out.

To be fair, you were unsure what the etiquette towards blowing someone through a gloryhole was, per se, but you figured that there wouldn't be manners or rules attached to it, the bloke behind the wall wasn't going to be a perfectionist at ten in the evening in a club in the middle of Soho. so you just knelt in front of the hole, at just the right level, getting an eyeful of clothed bulge through the drilled hole in the wall.

"Tenner for a blowie, mate." You said, and you heard the other guy scoff with disbelief from behind the wall, though he was still unzipping his jeans, hands covered in black tattoos when you looked through the hole, knuckles adorned with thick silver rings.

"Last one I had was a fiver." He murmured, and you felt fairly proud of yourself, and you hadn't even had the chance to impress him yet.

"Yeah, well, it's a tenner now. Take it or leave it." Fumbled with his back pocket anyway though, took out a worn, flakey leather wallet, opened it up and sifting through it, muttering to himself.

"Fiver now, fiver after?" He asked.

"Yeah, alright, give it then." 

The bloke shoved a scrunched up five pound note through the hole, and you quickly pocketed it, smirking happily to yourself. Even if this guy flaked out on you, you would have covered the entrance to the club within about ten minutes of work. Not too shabby, for a newbie. 

There were few words spoken between you and the stranger before he, for lack of a better expression, popped his knob through the gloryhole, expecting you to just get on with it and stop delaying the inevitable. 

There wasn't any kind of strain to get it through the fairly small hole, through the length was nice and suited your taste in dicks rather nicely, compensated for the lack of thickness. A shiny, silver barbell pierced the length and the foreskin was pulled back nice and tight, showing off a sticky head and slit, already dripping with pre-cum and looking reltively disease free, thankfully. 

You admired it, for maybe a moment, making sure to memorize it as the first gig you'd gotten during your new found independence, before leaning forward to give it a slow lick., almost moaning at the taste of cum on your tongue again, and then taking the head into your mouth.

“Oh fuck.” The guy groaned, bracing himself against the toilet wall, you assumed by the noise anyway, as he jutted his hips forward, pressing more of himself down your throat.

You liked doing it this way. It almost gave you a level of control that oral sex never usually gave you. Typically, clients would control everything about a blowjob, how fast they would go, how much you would take, how much you breathed in some more bizarre cases, always having the power of you, always able to do anything they wanted with you.

This, however, was different. The stranger wasn’t able to grip at your hair, or force you down, couldn’t stop you from just abandoning them halfway through and leaving them with half a stiffy and a severe case of blue balls. You controlled how fast you went, how much you took, since even the guy’s desperate little thrusts didn’t know much in terms of pushing himself down your throat. No chance of deep throating either, since the wall separating the two of you made the base of his cock impossible to reach. You didn’t mind though, deepthroating had never been a forte of yours, by any means. 

When you reached just past his piercing, lips stretched and taut around his length, he muttered out several curse words, moaning out how good you were, holy shit, you're amazing, and you gripped at the ache in your jeans, determined not to let yourself get turned on at the idea of sucking a stranger off in a weird club in the middle of Soho, no, that idea was absolutely not hot to you, and you weren't getting off on the idea of just blowing guy after guy in that bathroom, getting used up until your throat was bruised and you had tears streaking down your cheeks, and yet you kept begging for more, just because you loved the ache of it, the taste of it so much.

Okay, come on. Don’t disassociate on someone’s dick barely five minutes into the thing.

Very unprofessional.  

The guy behind the wall started babbling that he was close, fuck, gonna cum, you're so fucking good, holy shit, and you quickened your pace ever so slightly, still keeping to a silent beat inside your head, swallowing tight around him, and he gasped, braced himself against the wall, and you could hear the sound of scuffing boots against bathroom tile as he swore even more.

You moaned, deep and heavy against his dick, and you almost wished that the wall was gone, that he could hold you down and pull your hair the way you liked so much, hoped maybe this guy would be interested in a round two without the wall in the way. 

Don't get ahead of yourself, Faust, get the rest of your cash first.

He groaned loud when he came down your throat, sort of a kind of warning, but really, barely there at all. Not like you cared all that much, you were going to swallow it all down anyway, but you were more so thinking in concern for whoever his partner must be, since it was typically polite to maybe give a little word of warning before you spunked in someone's mouth.

You gave a few sparse little laps at the softening length, before he withdrew himself, stuffed himself back inside his jeans and went for his wallet again.

"Fuckin' hell, mate, that was well worth a tenner." He said, his voice almost sounding worn out, or like it was miles away from him. You smiled to yourself, sitting back on the tile.

"Thanks. Tell your friends, I'm here all night if anyone wants it." 

"I'll keep it in mind." Another five pound note was stuffed through the wall, and when you unfolded it, you saw the guy's phone number scrawled on the top in black biro. Under the name Mikey T. You snorted a little, shoving the fiver into your jeans, to join the other one.

"Pleasure doin' business with you, Mikey T."

"Call me sometime, yeah?" Could still hear his insistence through the toilet walls. "We can do that again, if ya want."

"As long as you're payin' me, I'll do whatever ya like." Putting on your just-for-clients voice, the one that always liked hearing. Mikey T chuckled, and you heard the zip of his jeans going up.

"Cheeky boy." He said, and you felt a pleased shudder run through your back, though you'd never admit that, of course. "Have a good night, yeah?"

"You too."

You heard the door open and shut again, and then the main bathroom door open, the pounding music suddenly on blast, before it muffled again, and you were left alone, in the stall of a toilet of a club in Soho, ten pounds richer and suddenly full of a kind of optimism that rarely graced you.

Maybe you'd even give Mikey T a ring again after this.

Who knew.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more murdoc backstory! finally some stuff about his time in london!
> 
> mikey t will be making a return among murdoc's group of friends. he hangs out with a lot of gay punks. it's a good thing
> 
> double penetration will come later but i'm in a lecture rn and i shouldn't have sex on my brain
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	22. Bonding Activity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 22: double penetration  
> second person, shifted perspective, normal is 2D, bold is russel, italics is murdoc, line breaks with each shift. trans male murdoc.

It had been Murdoc's idea initially, which should have really spoke volumes that it wasn't going to be a good one to begin with.

Something he had slurred out on a late night bender, a pre-drinks that had gotten a bit too wild and you hadn’t even had the chance to leave the flat, a bonding activity that the three of you partook in far too often while you were still trying to find a new guitarist, just to keep you all sane. He said it would bring you all closer, give you all a better understanding of each other, which was important in the music industry, he explained over frantic throwbacks of Captain Morgans. He knew, of course.

And you had apparently agreed with him at the time, when you were just as drunk as he was, but slightly rethought your eagerness when you woke up with a killer hangover in the morning and little memory of what you had talked about before Russel reminded you over a mug of tea and his usual scanning of the morning paper.

He had thought it was funny, at the very least, said your compliments were "sort of cute." Was less interested in Murdoc's relentless drunken flirting in the early hours of a new day, but he hadn't taken offence to it, which you guessed was a good thing.

"Y'think he was actually bein' serious?" You asked, through bites of toast and scrambled eggs, something you only ever craved when you were dreadfully hungover, despite you being a vegetarian for a good three years. Whatever. Eggs weren’t meat anyway, no matter what Mum said. Russel just shrugged his shoulders and turned onto the next page of his paper.

"Dunno. Wouldn't surprise me if he was though." Another sip of tea. "Don't think the man's gotten laid in at least a year." You laughed, despite knowing that the claim was very. Not true. Took another mouthful of toast.

"'Fink I should ask 'im when he’s up?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full 'D." Onto the next page, another sip of tea. "And if you really wanna. I don't care either way."

You heard a sudden clatter and a string of curse words (you assumed) in another language from behind Murdoc's door, alerting the both of you out of your conversation. Russel just rolled his eyes and quickly turned back to his paper.

"'Spose you can ask him yourself now."

Murdoc was always a right state whenever he woke up from a hangover, and today was no exception to the rule. He shuffled out of his bedroom, shirtless (as was typical of him) and in a pair of faded jogging bottoms, a white university emblem embossed on the front. Squinted over in your direction and grumbling to himself about it being too bright.

He snorted unattractively, coughing up a wad of phlegm out of his throat, scratched at the wide scar on his chest and set down next to you with a grunt, nicking a piece of toast off your place, and resting his head against his hand.

"Any chance either of ya know how t'make a Bloody Mary?" He asked, his voice tired with hangover, rubbing at his temple. "Need t'get good an' drunk again to deal with this bloody hangover, I’ll tell ya."

"After the amount you drank last night, I ain't never lettin' you near the bottle again." Russel said, looking up from his paper, a raised eyebrow. "Especially not the morning after."

"Aw mate, it's a bit of the hair of the dog, ennit." Biting into the dry toast. "Dad always said there ain't a better cure." Spraying crumbs over the table. Russel threw a paper napkin in his direction with a grimace

"Don't suppose your dad was an alcoholic, was he?"

"Oh, he was a raging one, mate. But! When ya right, ya right." Wiping his mouth in the crook of his elbow, ignoring the napkin that Russel had thrown his way.

"I really think more alcohol is the last thing y'need right now." Russel grumbled, turning back to his paper finally. Murdoc simply shrugged and finished the last bite of his (your) toast, before he stood up to turn the kettle on, getting a black mug with a pentagram embossing on the side from the draining board.

"Well, since I'm not allowed to have any fun in this place, s'pose I'll get settle for tea then. Next best thing to booze anyway."

Russel made a vague sound of acknowledgement from the kitchen table, already completely enveloped by the articles in the paper, leaving you in an awkward kind of silence, poking at your now cold eggs and debating to yourself whether or not to bring up the conversation you'd all had last night. Or at least the conversation that you'd apparently had last night anyway.

Russel must have sensed your unease at the suddenly quiet gathering in the kitchen though, glancing at you over the paper.

"Murdoc, I think 'D has something he wants to ask you."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, feeling like you had just been intensely betrayed though he looked more amused than anything else, keeping cryptically silent as Murdoc turned to look over at you while you panicked.

"What's that then?" He asked, leaning back against the sink as he waited for the kettle to boil, and you stayed silent for a few moments, unsure as to whether you should just come out and ask if or if you should try and be a little more subtle about it, act less like you were completely gagging for it. "Come on 'Dents, spit it out."

"Er." Prodding at the left over egg again. Too much ketchup. "I was jus'...wonderin', I 'spose. About that conversation we had last night." Spearing a cluster with your fork and glancing up, hoping he'd know what you were talking about and you wouldn’t have to actually say it.

"...You what?" He frowned, stepping closer to the kitchen table. "What're ya talkin' about, mate?"

"We were both drunk, so I didn't know if ya meant it or not!"

"Meant what?"

"I mean, ya don't have to! It was just something stupid, but-"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud!" Russel threw his paper down and stood to his feet, looking over at Murdoc. "You said you wanted t'have a threesome last night." Back over at you. "You wouldn't stop flirtin' with both of us." Back to Murdoc. "2D's just tryin' to ask if you actually meant it or if you were so wasted you were talkin' shit. Now would you two please sort ya'selves out so I can finish my paper." He sat back down with an annoyed huff, picking up his mug and paper and turning his attention back fully to that, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

The kettle clicked off with almost perfect comedic timing, the blue light switching off and the steam rising over the piping plastic spout.

"Did I really say that?" Murdoc asked, almost sounding shocked with himself and breaking the bloated silence, turning back to Russel, and he nodded, full attention still on the bloody paper. He looked over at you again, and you quickly glanced down at your plate again, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Well, it definitely does sound like something I'd say."

Turned back to the kettle, pouring the boiling water into his mug, mumbling inaudibly to himself, stirring at the teabag and adding sugar and milk.

"Bit forward mind, but come on, I was drunk off my tits."

"Best make the most of it while I have it though..."

"And I mean, come on, I've never done it before, I can't rule it out."

He then turned back to the two of you, holding his mug and taking a swig casually, as if the conversation hadn’t happened. .

"Well, we doin' it then?"

~

Murdoc had said that he wanted to be the taker between the three of you, practically insisted on it, with an intensity that would have almost been funny if it was from anyone other than him.

His reasoning behind it was, apparently, he was the only one in the group with suitable "parts" to take the both of you, at the same time anyway, and neither of you would have to resort to oral sex as a means to push the scene forward, thus making it slightly more interesting.

That’s what he said anyway. And he knew so much about that sort of thing.

You didn't put forward any kind of argument though, and neither did Russel, especially since he didn't really care that much how any of this unfolded, definitely more there just to entertain some curiosities he'd had with himself, and maybe just as a means to indulge both of your more outlandish fantasies.

But for now, you were just sitting on the bed (Russel’s, since it was the biggest one in the flat and you weren’t animals who were going to do it on the floor or standing up or something, after all), and listening to them talk between themselves, talk gradually and then quickly becoming arguments, looking at your hands and fiddling with your fingers, your nerves slowly eating away at you, unsure of what you should do with yourself.

Murdoc had left the room, since Russel didn't have any condoms (no point, he had explained, never get laid anymore anyway, though Murdoc had insisted that he keep his supply up "just in case of good luck!") and was off to retrieve some from his own vast supply, leaving you to stew with your nervous thoughts by yourself.

You weren't alone with your thoughts for long though, before Russel was sitting behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle, resting his chin on your shoulder and stroking slow and gentle circles into your skin, something he always did when he knew you were nervous, because he could always tell when you were.

Knew you that well.

**-**

**You couldn't blame him for being nervous. You probably would have been as well, had you been in a situation like this. Or not, who knew.**

**The Del parts of your head found this all absolutely hilarious, making quips about how this was technically a foursome, how he'd been looking for ways to spice up his love life and how this was perfect for the job. The you parts of your head were far less eager about it, particularly because Murdoc was a part in this arrangement.**

**2D, you didn't mind at all, since you had a level of affection towards him that might have been read as romantic, had you made it obvious at all.**

**Nah, that boy was already so in love it was hurting him, and he didn't need any of your feelings towards him getting in the way of that. And you didn’t mind that much about it either.**

**But it's not like you weren't going to use some of those feelings to a kind of advantage tonight. Just to make things a little easier to move around, a little less awkward.**

**You wrapped your arms around his tiny middle and he just seemed to naturally relax against you, his breathing steady and his hands no longer jittering like he was desperate to touch something but wasn't quite sure what. His comfort around you made your heart swell with delight, and you pressed light kisses down his neck, as if they were barely there, and he let out soft little moans and giggles, body shifting up towards you, your affection clearly welcomed.**

**"Ya so nice to me, Russ." He said, his voice soft and quiet, and you smiled against his skin, hands going up the front of his shirt and tracing the slightly protruding bones of his rib cage, over his nipples, making him flinch almost comically in your arms.**

**"Sayin' that like ya don't deserve it, 'D." You said, and he let out a little hum instead of answering back, falling back against you as you stroked his skin, deliberate and slow, trying to distract him while Murdoc wasn't demanding his full attention.**

**Because no doubt, as soon as he was back in the room, 2D would find himself much busier.**

**This was completely evident when Murdoc came back into the room, his jean pockets basically bulging with telltale little foil packets, and he looked over at the two of you, a curious eyebrow cocked.**

**"Looks like you two have gotten started without me, eh?" He said, and you grunted a weak response, hands not receding from 2D's shaky little body. Let him watch you put your hands all over his man then, wasn't that the entire point of this thing? Though then again your intentions weren’t exactly only coming from a means for sex.**

**He just smirked, knelt on the bed and crawled over to where the two of you were intertwined, perching himself right in 2D's lap, looming over him, a suddenly unreadable expression on his face but the picture of pure dominance. Maybe if you had been someone like 2D that image would have intimidated you.**

**But you weren't. And it didn't.**

-

He raked a hand through your hair, nails dragging down your throat slowly, not applying enough pressure to hurt though, just enough to make sure you were aware of his presence. Let out a gasp, Russ' hands were back on your chest, tracing down, close to where your jeans zip was practically straining down by how hard you already were.

"Couldn't wait a second for me, eh?" He asked, giving the clump of hair in his hand a gentle tug, making you let out a strained hiss.

"Just gettin' him comfortable is all." Russel speaking up behind you, a hand suddenly on the bulge in your jeans, kneading at your dick teasingly, just making you squirm more, let out stupid little noises of desperation, making both the men touching you chuckle, because people always liked winding you up, just to see how far they could push you before pulling you back, and how exactly you'd react. Liked laughing at those reactions, teasing you about it, asking you how desperate you were for it so you would beg to be touched like you always did.

"What, ya think he's uncomfortable?" The hand at your throat receded quickly, an affectionate palm pressing against your cheek, cupping your chin gently, though this soft act was counteracted by the tugs at your hair, keeping you alert.

"Are ya then, Dents?" He asked, keeping his voice soft. “You not likin’ this? Bit funny that, since you were so eager about it.” Sharp nails down your chest. You whimpered and shook your head despite how tight the pull on your hair was.

“I like it, I like it.” Whimpering, your body keening up close to him, trembling in Russel’s arms. Murdoc simply smirked in a smug, satisfied way in his direction, not needing to say anything, body language doing enough to convey how happy with himself he was.

Russel just scoffed, resting his chin on your shoulder, looking up at Murdoc with clear disinterest in his gaze, obviously not caring much for whatever he was saying or whatever he was doing with you.

Kept stroking over the bulge in your jeans though.

_-_

_2D was already hard, but that was hardly any kind of surprise since the lad got worked up over the smallest amount of attention, let alone the near constant touches coming from Russel. Him, on the other hand, you had no idea. No kind of any prior experience with someone who was completely disinterested in your presence. You had to assume that he probably wasn't hard at all, and to be fair, you hadn't given him any kind of reason to be._

_But you were going to have to work harder if you wanted this to work though._

_But you liked a challenge sometimes._

_You liked working for a reward._

_You kissed 2D first, harsh as ever, but just the way he liked it because you knew him so well, knew how much of a little masochist he was, how much he liked it when you bit at his lips, pressed your tongue against his, scratched his skin when you kissed. And he moaned against your lips, clearly loving every moment of it._

_When you were done though, you leaned over him and kissed your drummer, for the first time since you'd actually met him. An affectionate peck, nothing more (yet). And he didn't even pull away, not immediately anyway, and that was success enough in your eyes._

_"What was that for?" He asked, giving you an excusing glare, but you just smiled coyly in his direction, still leaning over 2D who was now fairly still and quiet, watching your interaction._

_"What? Thought I was just gonna pay attention to 'Dents?" Clearly he must have by the way he was looking at you. "Nah, that's hardly fair, is it? We are tryin' t'build bonds, aren't we?" Adding a slightly teasing edge to your voice. “How am I gonna do that if you’re bein’ frigid with me, eh?” He frowned, giving you another look._

_"Warn me next time ya do that, alright?" You nodded, all smiles._

_"Yeah yeah, mate, I promise." Bought your face close again though. "This count as a warnin'?"_

_"Don't push it, Niccals." He growled and you grinned, bright and wide, before you kissed him again, taking it as a victory when he kissed back, properly this time._

**-**

**You had to hand it to him, Murdoc wasn't a bad kisser. Even though that tongue was far too long for it's own good, like it had a mind of it’s own in a disgustingly weird kind of way. He was receptive though, let you to put more of the power behind it, take a level of control with him without controlling him completely though, because he definitely wouldn't have accepted that.**

**Of course not. He was still him after all.**

**Though you had to admit, that act alone was starting to make your dick respond the way it should. Maybe because you were also thinking about putting that filthy mouth to a better use, control him in maybe a more unorthodox way, vent out a few of your frustrations.**

**Yeah.**

**Maybe.**

-

You eventually, after staring transfixed at your band mates in this weird, sexually charged kind of embrace for a while, snapped out of it and shifted out of your little space between the two men and behind Murdoc, slowly reaching to unbutton and unzip his jeans while he was more distracted. Tug them down to his knees, and stroke over a sudden wet patch in his boxers, pressing your fingers up against it, the way you knew he liked..

He pulled away from the intense kiss with a surprised gasp, obviously not having expected your touch to be so direct so quickly, turning to face you, expression almost annoyed.

"Fuckin' hell, mate, give us a warning first, eh?" He said, voice up an octave, and Russel let out a little chuckle, before pulling the other man back into his arms, his hands (lovely, beautifully big hands) on his thighs, spreading him open for you and giving you a good look of his cunt underneath his boxers, so tight and the white so sodden that you could almost see the dark brown skin underneath the fabric.

“This warnin’ enough for you, Faust?” He asked, and fuck, the shudder that went through Murdoc’s body made the entire situation so, so worth it, regardless of whatever the consequences would be.

Your bassist was clearly far out of his field with this interaction though, out of his comfort zone, almost freezing between the two of you, eyes blown wide like a deer in the headlights. You almost wanted to ask if he was alright with this more vulnerable position, knowing full well that he didn't usually like it this way, but when Russel pressed two thick fingers up against the wet patch on his boxers, he threw his head back with a deep, desperate moan, hips jutting forward, thrusting against the teasing touch.

Sometimes you had a bit of dominant streak, yes, but this sudden position change was almost taking the piss, and looking down on Murdoc, who was normally so dominant, so intimidating and forceful being reduced to twitches and spasms in the arms of your drummer, slurring out desperate little begs, please, more, can't take it, push 'em inside me, wanna feel it, wanna feel you, please, was making you so fucking hard, you could hardly bare it.

You bet he would have looked even better if he was tied down, his legs forced down, his composure completely broken and no walls hiding his true face from you.

**-**

**2D, after staring at the two of you a bit more, eventually busied himself with dipping his head down between Murdoc's legs and lapping over his dripping cunt through his boxers, making him tip his head back against your chest, longs whines falling from his lips as his hips bucked up and down quickly, desperate for any kind of further touches.**

**It was almost funny, in a sick kind of way, seeing your bassist get reduced down to something like this, so quickly, only needing a few gentle touches and being forced to keep still to make him act like this. Wondered if maybe he'd react the same after he had his surgery, would still get sensitive and squirmy getting his dick gripped just right.**

**Whatever. Would be fun to explore when he gets it eventually.**

**"Fuck, Stu, please." His real name. A hand went down to grip at 2D's bright head of blue hair, the other going down to tug down his boxers. Good enough to watch anyway. "Come on, do it bare, please." Gasping, unable to stop the shivers shaking his body apart. "Please, please. Can't take it. Ya drivin' me wild, fuck." You loved how desperate he sounded, loved teasing him just like this, but let him thrust his cunt up against your singer's face, hands going down to stroke at his sides, over his ribs, tugging gently at the silver rings threaded through his nipples, making him whine out even more.**

**Your own dick was aching at this point, getting very close to being an unbearable level of ache and it was something you generally had decent control over as well. You guessed that Murdoc could probably tell by the way you dug your bitten nails into his skin, face pressed into his shoulder. But he wasn't going to say anything, obviously, and you didn't blame him.**

**You teased him, now he was teasing you.**

-

You changed your mind on eating him out though, even though you liked it so much and knew he loved it too, deciding to sit up instead, leave Murdoc whining between your bodies while you leant over his shoulder and kissed your drummer, though maybe your hands were going down and maybe you were pressing your fingers deep inside your desperate bassist, the way he liked it, the way you knew he liked it, just as a means to get him to be quiet for a second, so you could focus on Russel for just a moment.

Kisses between the two of you were rare because they didn't need to be any more frequent, you believed. You summed up all of your affections towards him in just a kiss, a way that you never could with Murdoc. You didn't really know why that was, why you had warmed up so quickly to Russel in a way that you hadn't with Murdoc, but it worked for you. Worked for him too, you assumed anyway.

When you pulled away from the kiss, you kept kissing his cheeks, down his neck, driving your fingers in and out Murdoc faster, deeper. An expert at multi-tasking it seemed.

_-_

_Fucking bastards._

_The both of them were complete and utter tossers and you were honestly debating just getting up and leaving, wank off in your own room where you wouldn't have any catch or release, no baiting, no teasing. Could cum as much as you wanted there, as often as you wanted._

_Assholes._

_If you ever had the chance to slam them about it in an interview or something, you were absolutely going to. Tell everyone that they were both terrible lays so there would never be a groupie for either of them, just for you. And for your guitarist, whenever you got a new one._

_He leant over your shoulder and they're caught in a kiss, like the one you had earlier, his long fingers pressed inside you and you groan, deep and loud, because he can already press two of them in you without any kind of hassle, your cunt's so fucking wet for it already. You buck your hips against him, your body desperate for any more contact, any deeper thrusts, anything thicker, never capable of being satisfied with one thing for very long at all. Panting, whining, you hated listening to yourself when you were like this. Hated how high your voice went, even when you tried to push it down, guttural groans like theirs, silent and stoic when you were able to be._

_Bastards._

_They're whispering words to each others, words you can't quite pick up, mainly because your head's too full of frustration to properly listen. Too busy forcing out little cliche phrases from before, whimpering helplessly about how hard you are for both of them, how you were so, so ready for whatever they wanted, please, can't handle anymore of this._

_He took his fingers out of you, standing to his feet and sifting through the stash you'd brought back from your room slowly, almost casually. You go to immediately stuff your own fingers inside yourself, just to tide you until they had decided what they were going to you, but Russel caught your wrist in a tight grip, almost wrenching you back, and giving you a hard glare._

_"Face me." He said._

_"An' why should I do that?" You asked, always one to try and stir up a bit of conflict, though it seemed counter intuitive when you were still breathing heavy and practically trembling from how heavy your body felt with arousal._

_"Cus." He started, grip getting tighter. "If ya don't, you'll be taking my fat dick up your ass. And I know you're a little freak who likes that kinda shit, but I don't hate myself enough t'try and do that first try, aight?"_

_And yeah, maybe you were a little embarrassed about how quickly you got into his lap after that, but in the moment, you hadn't been more turned on in a fucking long time, so, come on, you deserved credit for holding on that long_.

-

Clearly any disagreements between them had been settled by the time you had resumed your place behind him though, a condom pulled down your aching dick, enough lube to make pushing inside of him easy, or at least easier than it would without (though you knew that he could take you without, not like you had tried to before or anything though, when he had asked for it and you fucked him when he was on his knees and he had buckled a collar around your neck so he could make you go in deeper, harder, control your speed. That had been a pretty good night.)

You kissed down his shoulders while Russel busied himself with his own preparation, stroking over his sharp hip bones, over his stomach, up his front, fingertips tracing over his piercings, relishing in the little gasps and whines he let out. Kissed over his ear, sucking on the lobe, the pointed helix, making him tremble and shake in your arms, in a way you weren't going to admit you liked so much, at least not to him anyway.

Stroked further down, easing his thighs apart more above Russel, fingers pressed up against his cunt, gently stroking over his erect clit and making him cry out and whine even more. Holding his hands behind him, not gripping, no, not forceful in the slightest. Just giving the option.

"You ready?" You whispered, voice low, and he nodded desperately, keeping himself silent and though you liked it when he talked, when he slurred out desperate pleas for you, or when he growled harsh little words at you when you were under him, making you hold on even further, push you harder, fuck you until you couldn't think, you didn't mind too much when he was quiet either.

"Nah, that's not good enough now." Russel growled, his voice low and intimidating, alerting the both of you. "I think you're gonna have to ask a lil' better than that." Fingers going down to stroke over his clit again, making his body arch and pull hard at your sudden tight grip. "Maybe y'could beg a bit."

"Russ, mate, c'mon!" Pulling harder at your grip. Twisting between the two of you. "Already made me wait long enough, fuckin' bastard..."

**-**

**Honestly, it was funnier than it should have been, probably hotter than it should have been as well, watching him tremble, shudder.**

**You chuckled, pinching at the erect little nub between your thumb and forefinger and rubbing the pad of your thumb over it harshly, drinking in all his little sounds of agony and undeniable pleasure, 2D keeping his wrists pinned together behind his back, counteracting any of his or your harshness with soft, slow kisses, gently whispered pet names and simpering words of affection, telling him he was being good, he was waiting so nicely, he'd give him something soon, he promised.**

**"C'mon babe, we'll give it to ya." He whispered against his dark skin. "Just ask for it proper, yeah?" Kissing up his neck. "Ya so good, aren't ya?" His voice practically a coo, over his ear. "Love you so much."**

**You could probably do without that though.**

**But still, his little declarations proved effective on your bassist. Murdoc bit down hard on his lip, glancing down towards his lap, eyes squeezed shut, already full of premature shame as his body shook.**

**"Come on, mate, please..." Twist. “Please give it t’me.” Pulling hard. “I’m already hard for ya, just need it now.” Shaking hair out of his eyes. Or trembling. “Please.”**

**You grinned, mostly to yourself, tracing over his dripping cunt, fingers barely skimming over his labia as he cried out and positioning yourself properly against him, the head of your dick pressing against him, rubbing it over his hole.**

**"'Spose you've done enough to deserve it..." You said, keeping your words slow as he desperately rutted against you, clit aching for you already. "Ya think he been good enough, 'D?"**

**2D made a gentle sound of agreement against Murdoc's shoulder, glancing up at you with his dark eyes, eyes as gentle as his touch.**

**"Yeah, I think so."**

**And with that last word, you pressed inside of him with ease, making his body arch up against your's with a wordless gasp before he let out a long, shuddery moan, pressing his face against your shoulder, taking all of you as you pressed deeper inside him, without any kind of hesitation.**

_-_

_Even though you were above the both of them, the feeling of helplessness and the ache to be submissive still remained twisting in your gut, didn't help when Russel pushed so deep inside of you so quickly, though he barely looked at you, as if you didn't exist and you were forced to work for his attention, even though there wasn't a chance of you getting it._

_You didn't blame him though. You knew he didn't like you much._

_2D was sweeter though, gentler with you, like he always was with you. Pressed deep inside of you though he kept himself slow, gentle thrusts, deep inside of you, keeping your wrists pinned with barely any grip in one hand, the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer towards him, his face buried in your shoulder and kissing down your neck._

_Had to be gentle, of course, when he was pushing into you from the back, pressing into a hole that had barely been used before, so tight against you that he could barely move, and he wouldn't either, just in case it would hurt you in a way that you wouldn't like. Though very few things actually did hurt you in that way, it seemed, and sometimes that scared him, scared you even._

_You gasped and moaned when they both pushed inside of you at the same time, both their names spilling from your lips, squeezing your eyes shut, both your holes straining to take them when they pushed in so hard, so fast, barely giving you any time to adjust yourself to them, but fuck you loved it, loved being used well beyond any of your limits. They kissed over your shoulder and you could have whined about not being paid attention to properly, though your complaining was ever so slightly pointless when they were both fucking you. But even when you did whine, 2D just pulled away and his attention was back on you, stroking your skin, kissing down the back of your neck, stroking your hips._

_Maybe you wanted to gloat, because he was your's and you knew that Russel liked him just as much as you did, and yet he was so in love with you already, barely had to do anything to get his attention._

_Maybe you'd be called petty for admitting that, but you didn't give a fuck._

_Just wanted everyone to know that he belonged to you._

-

So tight, so warm against you, wished you could see his face and all those lovely expressions he pulled as he rode your dick so well, so receptive, whining and moaning out your name as you fucked his ass, taking it like he took it every day.

You could feel your drummer's dick against your's when you both pushed inside him, making it feel so much tighter and hotter, and you dragged faint red lines down Murdoc's skin when you started to lose, when you started to shake and tremble underneath him, when it all became too much to handle, and when you came, your lines became thin, deep crescents in his hips.

It happened so quickly, you barely even had the time to enjoy it properly.

**-**

**2D cumming so quickly would have made you feel a bit smug, if you weren't so close yourself. It was a little embarrassing, yes, particularly because you were barely attracted to your bassist in the first place, but his sudden fall from intimidatingly dominant to helplessly submissive within a few mere minutes was enough to get you half way there, let alone the way he bounced so effortlessly on your dick, took it so well, didn't complain about it being too tight or too hard, no, even begged for more of it.**

**He started slurring out that he was close, between his regular vocal tics, his arms wrapped around your neck now that 2D had let go of him, simply watching while he tried to get himself back together, just in case of a round two.**

**Though by the way Murdoc threw his head back, back arched, gasping out that he was cumming, and it was suddenly so tight around you, clenching down on you, forcing himself to stay down against you, you couldn't help but cum not seconds after he did.**

**Though even that felt a bit too intimate.**

_-_

_You all fell back against the bed, chests heaving and smelling of sex and sweat, never a good combination in your mind at least._

_Your holes were dripping with your own pre-cum and access lube, thighs sticking from the amount of gooey moisture down there, and you grimaced a little when you reached down to try and wipe some of it away, though to no avail. Slightly better that they both wore protection and you didn't have any cum leaking out of you (as hot as that sounded) but it was definitely too messy an idea to tackle on your first attempt._

_Second attempt might be a consideration though._

_None of you said much when it was all over, just focused on trying to get your breath back. You stared up at the ceiling, your head dizzy, almost unable to believe what had just happened, though you were more than happy with the outcome, firmly believing that this might be a catalyst for a better musical relationship in the future perhaps. A kind of symbol of good luck to find a good guitarist, a good manager, any future gigs whats so ever._

_Or whatever excuse you had thought up and harped on about last night anyway._

_"That was alright, wasn't it?" You asked finally, breaking the bloated silence. They both made vague sounds of acknowledgement, still worn out it seemed, and you smirked to yourself, making a mental note to make use of your multiple orgasms trick a bit more before you lost it._

_"So, what now?" 2D piped up from the side, raking his hands through his messy hair and looking over in your direction. "Should we cuddle or somethin'? Ain’t that what you’re supposed to do after an orgy?"_

_Russel scoffed and sat up, tugging the disgustingly viscous condom off his softening dick, and gently knotting it with delicate hands. "Nah man, we got shit to do." Tossing it in a waste paper basket. "No use in lyin' around when we could be doin' something." Standing to his feet and trying to find his jeans._

_"Aw, you're no fun!" You called after him, an affectionate arm draped around your singer, pulling him in close. "An' we're doin' something! We're bondin', ain't we?"_

_He turned back to you, buttoning up his jeans with a humorously raised eyebrow, one side of his mouth brought up in a lopsided smirk._

_"I'm absolutely not interested in whatever bondin' you two are doin'." Picking up his t-shirt and pulling it on. "But this was alright. Could do it again."_

_"Could or would?" You asked, a bright though slightly deceptive grin on his face, kneeling up on the bed closer to him._

_"You work it out." He said, before leaving the two of you alone in his room._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soz about the break, was in london for cons and halloween piss ups. enjoy this threesome fic
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	23. Unorthodox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 23: bondage/shibari  
> third person, some perspective shifts

Murdoc and Paula never worked well together.

And that wasn’t even an exaggeration. They  _ never _ worked well together.

They found an excuse to argue over everything, over different chord progression, different lyric choice, beats and tempos of new songs, and over whether or not the Rolling Stones were actually a good band or if their fanbase was strictly driven by nostalgia and wishful thinking. They even managed to find a way to argue in the middle of a Greggs during a lunch break once, when Paula had dared to say that sausage rolls were only good when you were dreadfully hungover or only had twenty pence to your name, which had naturally launched Murdoc into a shouting fit (hey, the man was passionate about his sausage rolls.)

Russel had taken them aside after putting up with it long enough, outside of the studio during a recording session, warning the both of them to find a means to vent their constant frustration with each other outside of your sessions together, or he was going to call it splits on the band and drum for someone else. Someone more successful or something like that. 

Plus they were freaking 2D out. Poor lad was sensitive enough as it was.

So after a week or so of trial and error, and major self control from the both of them during recording sessions, they had eventually found their own personal outlets, their own ways of venting out frustrations at each other. 

Just a breather, if you will.

Even if that so called breather was a bit more unorthodox than it should have been.

At least it had worked.

Today's breather was a little different to their usual ones, however, a little stranger, or however far the two of them could push the idea of strange.

They had agreed to meet up in the basement floor of her block of flats during a fag break from recording, when the others had gone on a tea/coffee run. She said that she had given the maintenance guy a tenner to leave her with it for the evening. He had asked her how she managed it, and she had grimaced over her cigarette in a way that made him assume that perhaps she'd given a bit more than a tenner as well. He couldn’t judge, no matter how hard he laughed at her over it.

But he had agreed to it anyway, curious as to what she was planning, intrigued by the location change as well. 

She'd given him the key he was going to need to get the lift to go down to the basement (a copy key, actually, so they’d always have an extra when she would give it back to the maintenance bloke in the morning) and stubbed out her fag butt on the brick. Smirking to herself.

Like she had a secret.

The group parted ways after a fairly unsuccessful practice session after that, all slightly irritated by the lack of any kind of new content, none of them even capable of choosing any kind of covers they'd all be decent at if they had any kind of bookings for gigs at pubs or bars or anything. Probably didn’t work incredibly well together in the first place anyway.

But that wasn't something on Murdoc's mind at the moment. Plenty of time to worry about that later. 

Parked his Winnie outside her flat, since she'd fucked off early, either to prepare for this, thing they were doing, or purely because she couldn't stand to work with them any longer. Stroking over the tiny metal key burning a hole in his pocket, mind still racing over the possibilities of this particular session. 

Ignoring the gathering of teenagers smoking illegal substances by the stars and playing shitty pop music on a portable CD player, he entered the lift and put the key into the button marked "basement", gave it a little jiggle and a turn. When he pressed it, the metal doors slid shut and the green light around the button lit up. The lift went down. 

Down, down, down into the bowels of the flat block, taking longer than he had expected.

He couldn't stop thinking about what she could have possibly planned, what she was smirking so mischievously about, what could possibly convince her to leave a bloody practice early. What was so important that she needed to do that?

He didn't know. And not knowing was making a monstrous anxiety gnaw at his stomach, though he hated to admit it.

The lift eventually stopped and the doors slid open, and he stepped out of it, eyes darting around the harshly lit space, looking less like the basement of a flat block and more of an empty, barren room, devoid of anything that he would of assumed typical for a bloke in maintenance.

Whatever. No sense in trying to work out anything about this now. 

He'd ask questions about it later though.

-

He had complained endlessly about the cold in the basement which wasn’t exactly atypical of him, waited until the last possible moment to strip off his clothes, despite her getting half naked as soon as she was down there, stripping off down to her underwear before he had even taken his jacket off first.

She had unpacked a duffel bag of sex toys and methods of bondage with ever bright, excited smiles, unravelling a thick black rope and holding it up towards him, busying herself with looping it around his chest in a complicated way that he couldn't keep track of. A new rope harness or something like that she had learnt to fill her time between their breathers. Something to make things a bit more interesting.

"Oof, fuckin' hell, go a bit easier on me, would ya?" He was already straining hard against the ropes, pulling away from them before she had the chance to tie tight knots. "Ain't it supposed to be a bit looser, eh?"

"Aren't submissives supposed to be quieter?" She sneered with a harsher tug of the ropes, making them even tighter and very clearly not abiding by the rule of a finger between rope and skin to insure against rope burn when it came to rope bondage. 

Then again, rules never really applied to them, and when they did, both of them ignored them, in exchange for something a little more "fun" as both of them had put it.

Like it was a game.

Even when things got a bit more dangerous, they simply saw it as a game.

"Mm, maybe." He mumbled, giving his tight binds a testing tug, hissing when they dug deeper into his skin, since she tied them just that way. "Might be true, mind you. But I'm not submissive. Not with you, not ever. So I wouldn’t know."

"Funny." She said like it was a passing thought, finally standing back to her feet and stalking around him, admiring her rope work, admiring the way he kept him so perfectly still against his ropes, lest they tighten some more. "Cus when I see a man in bondage on his knees in front of me, I usually assume he's a submissive." Stopping in front of him again, smirking down at him. "But I s'pose that's just my mistake."

"Sarcy cunt." He muttered with a frown, and she let out a little laugh in spite of him, the riding crop back in her hands, as she walked closer to him, heels tapping against the concrete floor. Though she didn’t come any closer, didn’t do anything else with her time. Simply looked over him, her expression unreadable but intimidating, almost threatening when he looked at it right.

“Well?” He said, dark brows furrowed.

“Well what?” She replied, arms crossing over her chest.

“Ya gonna do anything or are ya just gonna stand there?”

“Hm.” Crossing her arms tighter, tapping the riding crop against her cheek in a thinking motion, looking almost clueless and innocent. “Well, just standing here sounded like a wonderful idea ‘til ya said that, mate. Might have to change all of my plans for the night now.”

“Comedy gold.” Still frowning up at her though, the thick cords already making his body ache. “Really, what are you up to? Don’t like that look on your face right now. Looks like you’re planning something.”   

“Dunno what you could possibly mean.” She said with a bright smile, toying with the folded leather of the crop, a looming threat still present over him, making sure he was unable to relax properly. Not like he could anyway mind. 

The same thick black ropes around his wrists circled the rest of his body too, securing his ankles to his thighs, a mock up of a frog’s leg harness, if he remembered correctly, ensured he wasn’t going to go anywhere when she had her back turned and the kneeling was quickly making his body ache in a way he didn’t exactly enjoy. Rope also circled his chest, a shibari harness tied for no other reason than decoration, though she had ever so thoughtfully tied it into the shape of a pentagram, cupping his pecs and forcing his back straight, no matter how much he hated it.

She let out a satisfied little sigh, still fiddling with her bloody crop and looking down on him.

“You know, Murdoc, all you need to do is ask for it properly.” Tapping the crop against her palm, running it over the creases in the latex gloves. “Cus I know how bad ya want it. You’re very hard at hidin’ it.” Smirking as he glared up at her. “And if you're a good boy and ask properly, you might even get something nice from me." Though her words dripped with sticky, sweet affection, her red lips and dark eyes pulling a picturesque sympathetic pout, it was fairly counter intuitive and borderline pointless when she held the leather crop in her hands threateningly, teasing her fingertips over the folded leather. "Don't you want that, hm? I know I want to be nice for you. You just have to be a good boy for me."

The thick black cords that bound him dug in around his wrists when he pulled tight, and the pentagram harness made his chest jut out, giving him an illusion of eagerness, though he kept his gaze down.

When he finally did look up though, the look on his face was almost bored, and he ran his tongue over his pointed teeth, prodding at a gap near the back, perfectly casual and disinterested to the extent that it annoyed her.

"Ya know, love." He said with a shit-eating smirk, his tone more cocky than it probably should have been in a situation like this. "I don't really think ya wanna be nice to me at all, do ya?" She cocked her head to the side, a questioning gesture. "Nah, I know you, sweetheart. You're a sadist, so, I'm sure you wanna slap me around a little bit first. Demean me a bit more perhaps?" Leant forward a bit more, his smirk only growing as he kept speaking, getting more and more full of himself. "Call me a naughty boy, step on my dick maybe. Perhaps you'll get me to call you Mommy if ya in that kinda mood too."

She cut him off suddenly though with a sharp slap across his cheek, leaving a clear, dark imprint on his skin, and knocking any more words right out of him, as he swore out loudly. Frowning down on him, she knelt down to his level, a fistful of his black hair in her tight grip, pulling at it harshly, making him hiss with pain but keeping him efficiently silent though. 

"You're proper sick, aren't ya, Niccals?" She said, squeezing his cheeks together with her other hand, forcing him to look up at her. He grit his teeth, his gaze dark and his brows furrowed. "I'd ask what the fuck is wrong with you, but I know exactly why you're so fucked up. But." Bringing her face close to his, the frown dropped, smirking like a villain. "I can do some of those things. Might even let you call me Mommy if ya want that, since you’re so into that. If you ask me for it like a good boy."

"Go fuck yourself." He muttered through gritted teeth. She pulled his hair harder and he let out a pained groan but refused to say anything else.

"Well, that's a shame." She mumbled, standing back to her feet and reaching for something new from her pile, holding up a red ball gag and smiling with a sickening delight when his eyes widened looking up at it. "I was hopin' you were gonna talk a bit more. Our banter is always the funnest part of this shit we do." Back on her knees. "But if you're going to be naughty, I'll have to treat you as such." Unbuckling the thick belt and holding the red ball in front of his lips, baiting him, goading him. "Open up then."

He kept his mouth clamped shut, even when she gripped his hair again, giving it a harsh tug, tiny and strained wordless whimpers sounding from the back of his throat. 

She just let out an irritated huff, as if she were dealing with an unruly child, and instead went to pinch his nose shut, cutting off his last airway.

"Ya know I don't like forcin' you to do shit, mate. But ya make it hard not to when you respond so well to it." Pressing the ball between his teeth when he went for a gasp of air, and buckling the black belt tight around his head despite his muffled protests, his attempts of fighting her off. "And you do look wonderful trussed up like this." A sultry teasing smile on her red lips.

His glare was darker now, and she knew if looks could kill she'd be dead where she stood. Knelt. He hated not being in control, loathed it, made a conscious effort to try and retain it even when he was taking it up the ass from someone else. And to be fair on him, he did the job wonderfully. But she liked it much more when he was under her, helpless, in her complete control, and she liked how easy it was to do as well, since he never expected it. He was easy to take by surprise. 

"Don't look so sour." She said with a little pout, leaning in closer and prodding at the ball. "You still have a safe word, after all. Just need to say it for me, don't you?" 

When wordless little grunts sounded around the rubber between his teeth, she let out an sarcastic little chuckle, stroking down his cheek with her knuckles, over the thick leather belt around his head.

"God, you're so cute. It's almost a shame I like girls more than lads, ya know. We'd make quite the pair." A hand on his chin and an affectionate little peck on the ball between his lips, ignoring how much he scowled and glared at her, and she was happy to stay just like that, teasing and taunting him, demeaning him as he had put it so aptly before. It was fun to do, she had to admit, she always loved winding boys up, pushing their buttons until they were begging for something, anything. 

Stuart was just the same.

Boys were always the same.

"Well, let's do something a bit more interesting, shall we?" She said, clasping her hands together and getting back to her feet, not forgetting the crop that she had previously abandoned either, gripping the handle tight again, the groves almost exactly fitting her grip. Stalking around him, before she was behind him, though he didn't try to follow her with his eyes, knew better than that. She had already trained that impulse out of him.

She smirked to herself happily, planted her foot against his back, pressing the sharp heel against the bones of his gently protruding spine, applying a tiny amount of pressure but not nearly enough to hurt. Yet, at least. His hands clenched into fists under the thick ropes as she did though, a weak little groan slipping from his lips. Not from pain, no, but from the very idea of being under her.

"Lean forward. Let me see your arse." A gentle tap on his shoulder with the crop. He was hesitant for maybe a moment or two, so she pressed her foot down a bit harder, digging in her heel, and he quickly did as he was told after that. Traced the crop over his tailbone, over the black freckles that littered his skin, relishing in the way he flinched against the gentle touches, how quickly he'd been riled up. 

Gave his ass a little tap with the leather and he was already lurching forward, as if it hurt. She let out a laugh, more cruel than she had intended perhaps, and ground her heel down against him harder, definitely hard enough to leave a mark against his skin and making him groan out in pain, trembling beneath her.

"Hm...how does ten sound? Not enough?" She asked, as if it was a genuine question that he could answer, though when he didn't indicate anything otherwise, she simply took that as a no, and ten would absolutely be enough. And she was feeling a bit kinder than she usually did normally, so she was going to allow it. 

When she brought the crop down against his backside, the groan he let out was fairly pitiful and dulled, muffled against the ball gag, and she had to admit, it was actually sort of underwhelming, not nearly as loud as she wanted, though she had clearly hit hard. At least that's what the mark on his skin told her. 

She didn't give him any time to prepare himself before she hit him again though, bringing the crop down harder, and the howl he let out was much more of her taste, and she almost smiled by how loud it was, how drawn out it was.Not giving him any kind of a warning seemed to be the trick, since it took him by surprise. Always was her speciality after all.

"Did that hurt?" She asked, keeping her tone light and teasing, but again, he gave no kind of recognition that he had even heard her, obviously not wanting to give her any kind of satisfaction, any kind of gratification, keep her working and waiting for it. But that was fine. They still had eight more strikes to work with.

The next three strikes came quickly, one straight after the next, and each came with a muffled swear, a drawn out groan and more shakes quaking his body, more trembles under her foot. Absolutely beautiful, in her opinion. Best thing to look down at.

Her dick was straining against the tight gaff and she kneaded against the little lump under her panties with the heel of her free hand, a shallow groan slipping from her lips. She saw him almost look back at her, obviously curious at what she was so happy about, so she brought the crop down, as a kind of punishment, a kind of warning not to look back like she had trained out of him before, and his gaze snapped forward again.

"Clits hard for ya." She murmured, sort of to herself but loud enough for him to hear, if he wanted. "I'll peg you after this. Know you want me to. I’ll do it if you'll ask."

A moment passed where she assumed that he wasn't going to answer again and she prepared herself to strike him again, but he hesitantly nodded his head, hands clenching and unclenching under the thick black cords, as if he was admitting defeat. She smiled to herself, stroking the tip of the crop over the dark bruises already blooming on his skin, and his shoulders hunched as he let out a long shuddery moan, cheek pressed against the floor.

"There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it?" She almost cooed, still stroking over his bruises like a sick, twisted sort of affection. "You're a good boy, aren't you?" Another nod from him, a muffled whine against the gag between his teeth that she just adored, could have listened to for hours. "Just four more." 

Two strikes came quickly against the blooming bruises, and clearly he didn't have the energy to cry out any louder than he was already, sounding almost like sobs if she listened in a way that she didn't really want to. The next one came just as quick, without any breathing room for him, and his tremors were becoming more unstable, more uncontrollable, little spasms going through his body and shaking him apart.

"Last one, sweetheart. You can take it, can't ya?" He nodded again, desperately, either wanting it to be over or still desperate for any more pain that she wanted to give him. She wasn't really sure which one seemed more likely at this point.

The last strike was her hardest, she made sure of that, and he howled out in pain, pulling hard at the cords around his wrist, sure to result in a nasty kind of rope burn that he would complain about the next day. The bruises were a nasty kind of dark red and purple now, vicious and violent, beautifully colourful against his dark skin. 

She put the crop down, pacing to the side of him and kneeling down to his level, raking her fingers through his hair in an almost loving way, since his fringe was already sodden with sweat. Gave it a gentle tug to make him kneel up to her level and she knew how much it would have irritated his already aching body, but he didn’t complain much about it.

Tears streaked down his cheeks so his eyes were red, drool dripping in thick strings from the gag and down his chin. Hair messy and standing on end. Still shaking and trembling, even when she touched him so gently, so slowly, stroking over his burning skin.

"So good." She mumbled. "Are you gonna ask for it now, darlin'?" 

He nodded, in an almost defeated way, and she went to go unbuckle the thick belts behind his head, taking the ball gag from his mouth, breaking a thick string of saliva that connected his lips to the rubber that made her mouth water, and smirking at the way his teeth had bit sharp indents into the firm rubber, threw it to the side to be used later.

"Go on then. Ask me for it like a good boy."

"Please." He said, almost breathlessly, like he was exhausted and his expression certainly helped to be read that way. "Want you so much. Want you to fuck me. My dick’s so fuckin’ hard already, please."

She wiped hair out of his face affectionately, stroking down his cheek slowly and cupping his chin, running her thumb over his bottom lip, pleased when he put forward no kind of his usual irritation when she was in a more tender mood. 

"Open your mouth, stick out your tongue." A cruel smirk at his confused glance. "Wanna see how stupid ya look."

And to his credit, he actually did it as well, without any kind of shame, any kind of reserve or hesitation. Drool was already dripping from it in a disgustingly delicious way, and she felt compelled to kiss him hard, sucking on his tongue, biting on it until he whimpered, satisfied and smug when he didn't pull back and just let her do whatever she wanted. An affectionate hand at his throat, threatening to grip tight, cut off his airways again, make him choke, make him gasp out, desperate for her, needing her more than she’ll ever need him.

"You're so broken." She whispered when she did pull back, kissing over his ear. "My broken, brainless little boy." Going down to grip at his dick, rubbing her thumb over his weeping slit and smirking when he whined out desperately, hips jutting up against her touch. "God, I love it so much more when you're good for me, darlin'. Promise me you won't be naughty anymore, okay?"

Gritting his teeth again, eyes squeezed shut as he kept bucking his hips against her grip. "I-I promise." Stuttering, vocal tics acting up more than they did usually, pre-cum leaking down his length. "Promise I'll be good. Won't be naughty. Anythin' you say."

Gripping tighter. His breathing became unsteady quickly. Tiny desperate little noises slipping from his lips.

“You want me so bad, don’t you?” Her voice was practically a purr.

“Fuck yes, please. I need you.” His head drooping against her shoulder, her other hand tracing down his back, sharp nails skating over his skin through the latex gloves, almost daring to scratch. Not even pulling at the rope anymore, too far gone to try and put up any kind of fight or struggle.

She loved it so much more when he was like this.

A receptive little fuck toy.

She left him waiting for it even more, slumping back into exhausted, desperate mess on the ground, as she lazily crawled over to her little pile of tat, sifting through it before she found what she wanted, which in this case was a small container of lube, highly necessary when it came to a scene like this, no matter how much he said he liked it rough and raw, how much he insisted he could take it without any kind of protection or preparation first. 

She didn't hate herself enough to try and find out if his claims were true though.

She returned back over to him, positioning herself behind him and urging him forward again, pressing his cheek back down against the cold cement of the basement, stroking over his pointed helix and through his hair. Nails scratching down his back again, before reaching back down to his ass.

The red marks were already blooming into harsh purple bruises, and she pressed a hard thumb against one of the biggest ones, making him let out a weak little whine, straining against the rope harness that bound his legs. Snapped the top of the bottle and squeezed a good amount of lube onto her fingers and she immediately started rubbing it against his hole, smiling at the soft sounds he made when she touched him. 

She could easily push two fingers inside of him immediately without any effort or any further preparation, and his body twitched and spasmed against the intrusion, a long, exhausted moan forced out of him, eyes squeezed shut, trying to press his hips back against her. She pressed her fingers in deeper, scissoring them, and stroking down his thighs tenderly, tracing over the deep rope indents on his skin. 

"God, you're so loose." Curling her fingers, making him gasp out even louder, pulling at the cords binding his wrists. "Bet I could put it inside you without even trying." Gripping onto the ropes around his thighs, pushing in even deeper. 

He could barely make any kind of sounds, and any he could make were slurred together, through whimpers and stutters, gasps and desperate begs and pleas. 

She slowly traced over his taint and down his aching length, and he flinched almost comically against her touches, making her grin even harder, grip his cock tight, giving him slow jerks as she fingered him even deeper.

"Can't take it...too much."

"Aw, are you tryin' t'talk?" Her tone was light and teasing, and she smiled down on him in an almost spiteful way, pushing her fingers even deeper, even daring to add another one inside of him. "That's adorable, mate. Even though you sound like a total idiot." Three fingers was a tight fit, and he was straining hard against it, more than she would have expected for someone who was always so easy to take it as him.

She'd give it to him properly though.

Eventually.

"Fuckin' hell, Murdoc, even Stuart takes it better than you." Still gripping his dick tight, making his hips jut back and forth desperately, trying to buck into her grip and push himself against her suddenly still fingers, still slurring out wordless protests and pleas between his tics. "And at least he can always tell me what he wants."

"Please." His voice was barely there, hoarse and sounding exhausted, like he was barely able to keep his mind in the moment, close to dissociation. "Can't take it anymore. It's too much, too fuckin' much."

"Oh, so you want me to stop?" She asked absentmindedly, fingers receding out of him slowly. 

"No!" Suddenly at full attention, eyes wide open, almost kneeling upright again. No, don't stop. Please jus'...give me something! I dunno, anything." Still keening his hips back, letting out a long shuddery moan as she pressed back deep inside of him, urging him back down.

"Oh, I see." Keeping her words slow and deliberate, and her thrusts even slower. "You want my dick, don't you?"

He didn't say anything, and he didn't need to when everything about him was begging to be fucked already. Not even allowed on his hands and knees, his binds forbade that, doing nothing but already looking a picture perfect whore.

Though that wasn't hard for him. 

He'd had practice.

She pulled out of him quickly, ignoring any protests he made, any simpering little whines that slipped out of him. 

Had she been more of a sadist, she would have fucked him dry, knowing full well that he could have taken it. After all, he did always ask for it that way, and she was curious if he really could, put him to the test a bit, maybe make him regret all of his claims. 

But she wasn’t that harsh, wasn’t that cruel. Sure, she loved winding boys up, loved making them wait for it, but she would never really hurt anyone.

Not unless they asked for it anyway.

She tucked her underwear down, rubbed over the tight spandex gaff before slipping that down too, stroking over her half-hard dick almost apologetically, her touches doing wonders in helping herself cross the line of peak arousal. Stroking over the pretty little barbell piercings that decorated her length that helped to ground her into her own body, convinc herself that it was her's, no matter how much she changed.

She let out a little sigh, pushing her hair out of her eyes, emptied the tiny bottle of lube on her aching dick, assuming it would probably be enough, especially since she'd so graciously taken the time to prepare him first, unlike some people, before she was inside of him again. 

"Think you can take it?" She asked, looking back over at Murdoc's trembling, bound body. He made a little defeated sound of agreement and she took her position back over behind him, pulling him back onto his knees with the thigh harness. Stroking over his hole, smirking at all of his desperate sounds, the way he keened back for her.

Hands moved to stroke over all his bruises, groping him a bit so it would hurt more (because she was just like that), and pushed deep inside of him, without any kind of hesitation, any kind of further foreplay.

He clenched hard against her, head thrown back as best he could, tremors still shaking down his body, the spasms almost being enough to distract her.

Almost.

Pulling out, pushing hard back inside of him, her pacing unapologetically quick, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip in forced determination, because even though she knew how well used he had been, his clench was so deliciously tight against her, she could almost pretend she was fucking a virgin, sullying someone new in a sickeningly satisfying way.

Forced her fingers through his hair, pulling hard, forcing out further cries from him, though he was keeping his typical begging silent, and her dirty talk and teasing was suddenly lacking, though this wasn't a surprise for either of them.

Despite everything they did in the build up, everything they said to each other before they even started, neither of them ever said much when they were actually having sex.

Maybe it was because they both wanted to tune each other out, pretend it wasn't happening. Though this would imply that neither of them wanted it to begin with and that wasn't true at all. 

It was likely that this was simply down to the fact that neither of them liked the other very much. 

And this wasn't just down to the fact that both of them weren't exactly likeable, par say, and had unlikeable traits that clashed with almost everyone they met, especially clashed with each other. And it wasn't just because they held onto memories of recording sessions or arguments in coffee shops that would lead to the manager asking them both to piss off.

No.

They just flat out didn't like each other. 

Not in that way anyway.

So they kept their eyes closed and didn't speak, pretending for the other person as much as they were pretending for themselves.

His clench eventually became looser against her, and she was able to push in deeper, down to her base, filling him up completely and he let out an almost silent gasp, frantically taking in desperate inhales and exhales, still keeping silent, pulling at his ropes. 

She kept still for a few seconds, still tracing over his bruises and laughing to herself when he gasped and shook.

Thrusted up against the little cluster of nerves inside of him and he quickly lost his desire to be silent, moaning out like a porn star when she pushed up harder against it, feeling almost triumphant that he had broken first and not her, because she had so much more self control than him. His moans echoed against the walls of the empty basement, so much louder than they should have been, and it was the only thing that filled her head.

And she hated it.

She quickly brought her hand down against his bruises, a harsh slap that was louder than she intended.

"Shut up." Growling, her lips practically sneering down on him, disgusted. "I'll gag you if ya don't."

He was suddenly quiet again, biting down on his lip, fists clenched up to give him some kind of self control that he was so quickly losing underneath her. 

But it was good enough for her, it seemed, since she started pushing in and out of him without any kind of specific speed or tempo, losing all of the carefully constructed composure she had so much of before, gripping his thighs open, her nails digging into him under her gloves, just enough to hurt but not nearly enough to cause any damage to him, give him any kind of remembrance or keepsakes of their session. His bruises were the only things that did that, it seemed.

While he kept silent like he had been told to, she started to slur out that she was close, and though he didn't say it, he was too. 

The very idea of them being close enough to climax to perhaps do it in unison made his stomach ache and he wanted desperately to hang on enough to prevent it.

But she pushed in deep inside of him, whining out loudly, and he couldn't help but groan out in unison as he came against the concrete floor, keeping as quiet as he could.

Both of them were breathing heavy, barely moving against each other, before she pulled out of him. He didn't even hiss. Used to it at this point.

"Fuckin' hell."

"Yeah."

"Want me to untie ya?"

"I'd really prefer it."

Without another word or any kind of teasing, she unknotted the heavy black cords around his wrists, untied each of the harnesses binding his ankles to his thighs and allowed him space to stretch out a bit more, give some life to his sore limbs after not moving for such a long time. Rubbing at the pressure points on the soles of his feet with an irritated groan.

"What's up with you?" She asked, back on her feet and pulling her jeans back on.

"Bloody pins an' needles." Tilting his head back, stretching his arms out above him. "Gonna untie the harness anytime soon?"

"Mm, I was going to but come on, it's so pretty." She said with a little pout, buttoning her jeans shut. "Can't ya keep it on for a bit longer?"

He just had to give her a look, a specific look that spoke louder than any words, and she rolled her eyes, kneeling back down behind him, tugging apart the complicated knots.

"You're such an arsehole." She muttered and he let out a dry little chuckle.

"You were callin' me cute earlier, love." He said, and smiled when she grimaced, giving her an affectionate little shove. "Oh come on, like I'd ever date your ugly arse."

"Yeah, right back at you, mate." Standing back to her feet to pull on her jumper, latex gloves pulled off and abandoned in her duffel bag. "Aging queens aren't exactly my type."

"Yeah, well, I'm not into lesbians in denial either." Rubbing at the rope indents on his skin before he went to get changed himself. "You're getting more obvious as the days pass, sweetheart."

"Ugh, shut up." She frowned and zipped the duffel shut, throwing the strap over her shoulder, staring into space for a few seconds, lost in her own head, maybe wondering if she was getting more obvious. "Wanna come up to the flat for a cuppa?"

"Yeah, alright." He mumbled, jeans back on, pulling his shirt on over his shoulders. Up on his feet. "How ya gonna break it off with Stuart then?"

She shrugged, looking down at her hands, like she was inspecting her nails. "Tell him the truth? Get him to catch me in a public bathroom maybe? I dunno."

"Whatever works best for ya, I s'pose." Following her back over to the lift, handing her his key. "Don't hurt him though. He doesn't deserve that."

"God, and you say I'm obvious." She smirked, pressed the key back into the slot. "Just shag him and get it over with already."

"I'll do it when you run off with the coffee girl you oggle every morning. He'll need a shoulder t'cry on."

"Long as it ain't mine, I couldn't give a shit."

And the doors slid closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to write some femdom n now i have so i can finally die
> 
> it's bonfire night and i hate fireworks so i did this instead
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	24. Liquid Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 24: exhibitionism  
> second person, from 2D's perspective

You don’t know he had convinced you to do this again, but he’d booked a hotel in London for the weekend, told you about an “event” going on at a club he liked, used to go to with his friends back in uni, told you that you would like it, and begged you to go with him, promising he’d pay for the entire thing.

And really, you’d been pretty convinced before that, but that was a little bonus to the arrangement. That’s what you believed anyway.

Turned out, the event was another fetish gathering, though this was much more intense than the one in Essex. Pricier, harder to get to, and much, MUCH more underground. 

He hadn’t dressed up much though, which surprised you since he was such a showboat around things like this. Black jeans, heels, his leather jacket, a string vest under it. Simple but effective. Still turned heads like he always did. 

You were a bit different though. Told him you didn’t really want your face being out there again, since it had clearly gone to shit the last time you had done that. 

So he’d gotten you something very special just for that. 

A black latex hood that zipped up tight at the back. Made your skin hot and made you sweat when you wore it but it gave you a level of security and safety that you didn’t usually have. And you liked it, in a weird kind of way. 

You felt protected.

Even more so when he had an arm wrapped around you, your collar around your neck and a chain in his hand, owning you but in a way that was so wonderfully affectionate, especially when he kissed you through the latex so casually, grinning bright and wide and you knew he was exactly where he belonged whenever he was somewhere like this. 

So you couldn’t protest. 

 

-

He’d bought something from one of the other patrons of the club, hadn’t told you what it was, though this wasn’t exactly uncommon for him. Simply slung his arm around your shoulder, leaned in close to you and asked if you wanted to find a free room away from the main bulk of the club. 

Tongue thick in your skull, you kept silent but nodded, not asking him any questions, always the first one to put all of your trust in his hands. 

You found a free room at the back of the club, locked the door behind you, a large window adorning one of the walls though you didn’t remember noticing it before. Inspected it for a few seconds. 

A two-way mirror.

A cowards form of exhibitionism. 

He sat down on the bed, took off his jacket, legs spread provocatively and a dirty smile on his lips. 

“Wanna get naked for me, nancy boy?” He drawled, already reaching to unzip his jeans, and you didn’t have to be asked twice.

Reached back and yanked the hood off your head, wiping away your sweaty bangs with the back of your hand and tossing it to the side for the time being, making a mental note to remember to pick it up later. The rest of your clothes came off just as easily and you joined him on the bed, keening up close to him, sitting in his lap. He stroked through your sweaty hair and you practically melted against his touch.

“Prefer you much more like this honestly...” He mumbled and you closed the gap between the two of you and kissed him hard, desperate, and he let you, inviting your tongue against his and groaning against your lips in a way that made your dick ache for him even more. 

Straddling his hips, your arms around his neck, and his hands trailing down your body, stopping at your ass to give it a good squeeze and making you moan even more. You loved the slight power imbalance between the two of you in that moment, you naked in his lap, him completely clothed and holding you so close that it was a squeeze around your body.

God, you loved it.

Loved him.

He pulled away from the kiss, delicately lapping at your lips with a little chuckle, reaching over for his jacket again and sifting through his pockets for one of those little golden bottles that he had bought not ten minutes before you had found a space together. Held it front of your face and you read a label.

Liquid Gold.

“Wanna take a hit?” He asked, the old same smirk on his face. 

“What is it?” Innocent as ever. 

“Ya not know what poppers are, mate?” Smile dropping a little, a more confused expression coming to his face. You shook your head and his frown quickly morphed into a grin as he laughed at you. “Fuckin’ hell, that’s a shock for someone as kinky as you are.” Smiling at the blush coming to your cheeks, he unscrewed the cap, cracking off the plastic, a ragged tear splitting the letters of “Liquid” in two pieces. 

Poppers.

You were sure that maybe you’d had a lesson on something like that in drug awareness when you were in high school. But knowing you, you had probably ignored whatever the bored police officer was talking about to feel up the girl next to you under the desk. Not one of your proudest moments, admittedly.

“What they do then?” Better to ask now though.

“Might make you a bit dizzy. Give ya a bit of a high.” He said, pulling off the plastic stopper. “But, ah, mostly used t’get yourself in the mood a bit more.” A coy little smile. “Loosen your muscles up a bit, if ya know what I mean.”

You did know what he meant. 

“How d’ya take it then?” You said, still tempted.

“It’s an inhalant, mate. Snort it.”

“Like ket?” 

He let out a little laugh through his nose. “Yeah, alright then. Like ket. Wanna do it with me?”

You thought about the pros and cons of all of this inside your head, with your limited knowledge on the drug anyway. Considered that if you had a bad trip, you were in a safe space that you could come down from, and if shit got really bad, there was probably someone with a mobile in the club who could ring an ambulance or something.

The prospect that perhaps you were being lied to did crop up momentarily, yes, but you shook if off quickly, knowing he would never do something like that. Or at least hoping.

You nodded your head after hesitating for a few seconds, and he gave you the open bottle before opening the next one for himself.

“Bottoms up.” He said, and raised the rim of the bottle up to his nostril, covering the other one with his thumb and taking a good whiff, and you copied all of his motions and did the same thing.

As soon as you took the harsh snort, the first thing that hit you was an immediate head rush, so harsh that it made your eyelids flutter and your head spin, immediately dizzy and weird feeling. It wasn’t uncomfortable or anything, no, it was just different. 

It was like a sudden rush of ecstasy that you had gotten before with pills, but all at once and so much more intense.

The second thing that hit was the warmth. Your face felt hot, your entire body felt hot, your cheeks were burning red, but in a nice kind of way, a way that was comfortable and pleasurable, made you feel weirdly at home despite the situation.  

But the third thing, and the most notable thing you found, was how fucking desperate you were to be fucked, immediately and so hard that you couldn’t breath or think. 

Murdoc must have noticed, or must have felt that way himself, because his hands were back on your ass, groping hard and his mouth was on your neck, kissing down over your collarbone, fingers pressing up against your hole, prodding at you, and it hurt far FAR less than it would have usually felt to take it dry. Not like he was going to fuck you dry, of course, he wouldn’t do that.

Even though you could take it.

You would take it if he wanted you to.

But he wouldn’t.

Not yet anyway. 

He kissed your hard and you whined desperately for him, dragging your fingers through his hair, and he held onto you tight, pushed you against the bed, and ground his hips down against yours hard. Sat up and pressed his hands down against your chest, pinning you down underneath him. 

He didn’t even need to tell you to keep still when he took his hands off of you to pull off his jeans, tug off his shirt, so he was as bare as you were. Didn’t waste any time for dirty talk or teasing before he was kissing you again, and you tangled yourselves in each other, hips jutting together in time, desperate for any kind of contact. 

Your bodies were hot and flushed, and your head was still spinning and dizzy from the drug, hard to shake off.

He let out an irritated, almost animalistic growl against your skin, and suddenly hurtled you up onto your feet, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist and pulling you over towards the window. 

“Let’s do this properly, shall we?” Through harsh little chuckles that practically forced a shudder through your body. 

He pushed you up against the mirror hard, pinning you against it with his body, glass cold against your cheek, head still pounding from the drug. Looking forward through the grass, at the rest of the patrons of the club that passed in front of the wide window. Eyes glassed over, drool dripping from your lips. Too far gone.

No-one could see you. 

The window was mirrored on the other side, so you could see out but they couldn’t see in, and people largely ignored you, ignored the entire room, stopping in their tracks for just a moment to fix their hair, adjust their outfits, smooth out vinyl and silk.

You were always worried that someone would notice you, stop for long enough that they’d see right through the mirror and see you, see him, see what you were doing.  Be shocked and disgusted with you. 

But even if they did see you through the glass, they couldn’t say anything, couldn’t comment, since it wasn’t like this was indecent exposure or anything. 

That’s what people came here to do, after all. 

If anything, you’d probably get a bit of an audience gathered around you.

His grip on your hair was as tight as usual, pulling hard, keeping you alert even when your head felt like it was ten miles away from the rest of you. The initial high from the poppers was subsiding and it was fading into a dull pounding headache, something anyone else would have complained about but you were far too used to it as this point to bother even thinking about it. 

Just accompanied the rest of the pounding in your brain.

Lapping up your neck, sharp teeth biting down on your shoulder, your collar bone, bruising and marking you for everyone to see, making you cry out loudly, breath fogging up the glass. Squeezed your eyes shut, grit your teeth, trying to focus on anything else other than the pain, focus on the way he rocked his hips against your ass, grinding his dick up against you, so you could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted you.

He free hand slipped down your front, over your chest and down your stomach, stroking at your aching dick, and you shift against him, shuddering, trembling. You don’t know how much of your hard on was coming from his stimulation and how much was because of the poppers, but it felt the same, kept you just as turned on anyway.

Emptied a hidden sachet of lube onto his dick and he was quick to push inside of you, and though you weren’t nearly as tight against him as you usually were, he still groaned out, pressing his face into your shoulder and digging his nails into your hips, dragging them down your skin, leaving thick red lines in their wake. 

You pushed back against him, your breathing stuttering and heavy, trying to brace yourself against the glass window, whimpering as he pressed deeper inside of you, in and out, frantically, him as desperate as you were for once. 

“You like everyone lookin’ at you, Stuart?”  His voice was particularly slurred this far in, but you could still hear him just the same, still listen to whatever he was saying. “Bet ya do. You’re a proper show off, after all, bet ya want everyone lookin’ at ya while I do this.”

While it wasn’t exactly true that people were looking at you through the mirror, since you hadn’t gotten much more than just a few people trying to look through the glass and see something, before quickly moving on to continue with the rest of their evening, it was true that you were a show off. And the idea of someone watching you get fucked against a window wasn’t something that you hated.

You even sort of liked the idea.

Maybe getting a stranger to reach climax without them even touching you. Seeing you, hearing you through a wall was enough to do that.

It gave you a powerful feeling that you wouldn’t admit to having later on.

You kept silent though, pressing your forehead up against the glass, and he chuckled, pushing deeper inside of you, against the little cluster of nerves that felt so much more sensitive right now.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re so pretty.” Mumbling against your skin, hands around your waist, clinging tight. “They’re gonna love you, mate.” Kissing over your ear. “Not nearly as much as I do though.”

God, he was perfect.

This was perfect. 

High on legal drugs, horny as all hell, in the middle of the most notorious sex club in England, but everything about this was so fucking perfect you never wanted to leave this moment. 

But your body forced you to leave it. Against your will as well.

Came against the glass window hard, and it almost winded you, suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, and you almost slipped down under him, but not before he pinned you down against the glass again, and came deep inside of you, with a dirty groan, throwing his head back. 

He pulled out of you and you both fell back against the bed, exhausted and practically boneless, chests heaving, breathing heavy.

Didn’t have to say anything. The silence was perfect.

He took you into his arms, pressing his face into your hair, your legs tangled together. You let out a steady sigh, tracing over his hands gently, listening to the soft sounds he made when you touched him so gently.

“Your head hurtin’?” He asked, his voice low.

“No more than usual.” 

He chuckled quietly, and your fingers interlocked in an expression of pure love and intimacy, and you felt more at peace now than you had in ages.

“Someone else will probably want this room soon.”

“Make ‘em wait for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not editing this it's almost 7:30 n i just wanna sleeeeeep but i still have to walk home and shower and all that grown up shit lmao
> 
> don't do drugs. or do. research ur drugs before you do them. or don't. idk i'm not your dad
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	25. Under Your Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 25: boot worship  
> second person, from 2D's perspective

You were naked. That's the first thing that had to be established.

You were also on your hands and knees, your back straight and your ass raised, a position that quickly got uncomfortable. The van was always cold, since he didn’t want to invest in any kind of halogen heating, so your arms were covered with goose bumps, from cold and from nerves. You were trembling, shaking even, and keeping your gaze firmly on the floor below you. That's what you had been told to do. A trailing chain around your neck, metal cold against your skin, making you shudder even more.

He wasn't naked. That's the second thing that had to be established and it was very important.

He was as relaxed as ever though, possibly more so than usual, sitting up at the end of his bed, his feet propped up on your back. He had a "thing" for seeing you under his feet apparently. That’s what you assumed anyway, he never told you anything like that. Hadn’t even explained this first before he did it, got you in a compromising position beneath him.

But that wasn’t exactly uncommon anyway.

He glanced down at you, a curious eyebrow raised. He nudged you in the ribs with the tip of his boot, almost playfully, a snide, cruel laugh through his nose.

"Stop shakin’ so much, prat." He said gruffly. "Really throwin' me off." 

You nodded hesitantly, though you were sure he wasn’t paying attention to you and made an effort to stop trembling. He snickered and you heard the flick of his zippo lighter, see the glimmer of an orange flame in your peripheral vision. He slotted a thin cigarette between his lips and he lit it slowly, taking a long drag on it, the tip flickering orange with lit embers. When he exhaled, a thick, dark stream of smoke seeped into the air of the van and you felt your dick throb for him between your legs.

He caught you watching and you quickly made eye contact. You weren’t sure if you should look away immediately, but when he smiled, baring his sharp teeth, you glanced back down, cheeks flushed red. 

"Bein' pretty quiet, aren't you, babe?" You swallowed hard and nodded slowly, keeping your gaze still and forward, like you were before. One of his boots moves under your chin, forcing you to raise your head to look at him. Still smiling. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say?”

"What should I say?" You asked, swallowing against a lump in your throat, and he made a gentle tut with his tongue, moving his foot back to your back, ankles crossed.

"How much ya love me, perhaps?" He suggested, flicking away a bit of gathering cigarette ash and taking another drag from it. "Since you're doin' a shit job of showin' it."

You kept quiet, maybe hesitating for a little too long, and he gave you another sharp jab to the ribs with his boot, that made you wince and hiss.

"Not gonna say it, are ya?" He asked, tone suddenly much more serious, and for some reason, your tongue was heavy in your skull and you couldn't say anything that made any proper sense.

He stubbed his cigarette out in a glass ash tray and stood up to his feet, reaching down and picking up the trailing choke chain in a harsh grip and frowned down at you as you quickly sat up, scooting back against the carpet frantically, as if you were afraid.

"Funny. Only reason I got ya back in this place was because you loved me, apparently. Was I wrong, perhaps, Stuart?”

You always hated it when he used your real name. It was so much more personal. Made everything sound harsher.

"I do." Shuddering underneath him, your voice already stuttering. "I do love you. Really." Gripping at the collar of the choke chain, trying to put any kind of space between the chain and your neck, stop it digging in so much, stop your breath hitching when you spoke. 

"Yeah? Gonna prove it to me?" Pressing the sole of his boot down against your bare thigh as you shifted up further just to keep you still. Kept the chain tight in his clenched fist. Not pulling, just to alert you.

You bit down on your lip, looking up at him. Eyes were already watering from the persistent pressure on around your throat. Swallowing hard against it.

You wished you could have seen through his eyes for just a second, just in that moment, just so you would know how he saw you, if he saw you the way he used to in anyway at all, but of course, he was cryptic and unreadable and you struggled to read situations, read people in anyway. Your brain didn’t work like other peoples anyway.

"How?" 

Before you even got an answer from him, he kicked you in the ribs, hard, knocking the wind and words out of you and making your body buckle in two underneath him. You kept quiet though, unable to make any words, stunned into a shocked silence. Chest heaving, body already aching in a way that would bruise in the morning, and sting for the next few days afterwards.

He pressed his foot down against your chest again, pushing you down onto the floor with minimal effort or pressure, sneering down on you, amused at the way you flinched underneath him. Held the sole of his boot barely inches from your face, so close that if you dared to sit up, he could just kick you back down again. It was that easy now.

"Think I’ve figured out how. Go on." He said, his voice as low as the light in the Winnie, but so much more harsh. "Lick it."

You looked up at him, barely able to make eye contact with him through the shadows cast on his face. Could still make out that devilish smirk though, could still see his harsh, dark eyes, just a simple expression that spoke volumes of how he saw you now. Any of the love and sincerity he once had for you long gone, replaced with nothing more than contempt and a vague amount of self loathing he had for himself that was never anything new anyway.

Pressed the heel down under your jaw, against your jugular, partnering beautifully with the chain in making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Show me how much you love me. Worship the fuckin’ ground I’m walkin’ on.”

Leaning up as best you could underneath him, the choke chain still tight around your throat, you squeezed your eyes shut tightly, and dragged your tongue over the sole of his boot. You didn't want to consider whatever it might have been you were tasting, keeping your mind focused on the task he had given you. 

Flat, wide licks, long and slow, making sure you did everything that he liked, did everything you could do to please him, make him happy, make him proud. And by the sounds he was making, and the way he rubbed at himself through his jeans, you were doing that very well. You were almost proud of yourself, and you skills of always adapting so quickly to a situation that you didn't like, just in the way that you had been trained to do.

He was satisfied, clearly, though when he moved his sole away from your face, getting rid of any more violent threats, and sat back down at the foot of his bed, fiddling with his belt and jean zip, still holding the chain tightly.

"Keep goin'." He mumbled, and you sat back up, hesitating for maybe a second  or two, assessing whether or not any of this was actually worth it, before you lazily crawled over to his feet, kneeling in front of him like a pet that you knew he liked seeing you as, looking up at him as if you were looking up at a god. 

He rose his foot up you your level with an expectant smirk, as if he was looking right inside your head, knew exactly what you were thinking, and you took the heel in hand, gently, and pressed your lips down onto the tip of his boot and up over the toe box and the vamp, tongue occasionally darting out to lap up it with soft, gentle moans, tasting the musty leather on your taste buds. 

His legs were spread out above you, and he palmed at himself through his boxers, bucking up gently against his own touch, biting down on his lip with a dirty smile. Watching you as you kept lapping up the shaft, not even saying anything when you started doing the same, gripping at your dick and jerking yourself off slowly as you lapped and kissed up and down his boot. Generous enough to let you enjoy something yourself for once. 

"Fuckin' hell, that's hot." He muttered to himself, though loud enough for you to hear. You smiled against the leather privately, gripping yourself tighter and lapping over the tongue of the boot. Your slit was already weeping and you rubbed your thumb over the dripping head, moaning for attention as you kept going, looking up at him and catching his eyes with your own.

"You hard as well?" He asked, still looking down on you, and you nodded your head, still gripping your dick. He moved his foot down from your face and motioned for you to stop, which you did, didn't have to even vocalise it, always knowing exactly what he wanted.

He tugged down his jeans and boxers, his dick already standing up against his belly, smearing pre-cum on his skin, his piercing glinting bright against the brown head, his foreskin already pulled back, tight and taut. Your mouth was practically watering, just seeing it so beautifully erect just for you. Keened up close to him but he planted his foot on your shoulder, keeping you away from leaning in any further. The chain wrapped around his hand counteracted that though, so each motion kept you pinned exactly where he wanted you. Smirked down at your desperate little expression, oh so pleased with himself, like he always was.

Asshole.

"Ah ah ah, not so fast, mate." Laughing through his nose as he pulled at the chain tighter, almost urging you further forward. "Tell me how much ya want it first."

"Fucks sake, Murdoc." Already whining like a dog though, keening closer despite how hard he pushed you back. "Want it so bad. Want ya, fuckin' need ya already. Made me wait long enough, haven't ya?" 

"Nah, not nearly long enough yet." His smirk grew into a sinister grin, gripping his dick again and jerking up and down slowly. Fucking hell, you were already drooling just looking at him. "So...beg for it."

You let out a desperate little whine, pulling against the chain. "Please. Want your dick so bad, Murdoc. 'M so fuckin' hard for ya, wanna taste it." 

"Want me to fuck your mouth, eh?" Fuck him, and fuck how hot this was right now.

Nodded frantically. The chain was digging against your throat almost uncomfortably now but that of course did nothing to stop you from being so turned on. Almost aided in it honestly. Your own dick pressed up against your belly, dripping pre-cum against the snail-trail, twitching for attention from anyone, anything. 

He yanked hard at the choke collar, pulling your face closer to his lap, foot planted down on your thigh, edging close to your crotch. 

"Want me to fuck your face so hard ya can't breath? Wanna choke on my dick, don't you?"

You made desperate little sounds of agreement at the back of your throat, mouth open and tongue out ready for him, even though he wasn't even doing anything for you yet. He chuckled darkly at your eagerness though, let go of his dick long enough to stroke through your hair, a gesture so tender and intimate it almost surprised you when he didn't pull your hair or try to hurt you to begin with. Sort of out of character for him.

"Oh, but you won't get anything from that, will ya, Dents? I get to cum down your throat, all over that pretty face of your's, but you don't get shit." Stroking down your cheek, sharp nails tracing harsh little lines against your skin, almost making you flinch. "Or will that be enough to make you cum as well? Just me using you?"

You didn't want to admit to it, admit he was right, that you probably could reach climax with him just fucking your face, but your silence spoke volumes enough for him and he smirked. Let go of your face to grip at his dick again, pulling you closer with the chain.

"Go on then. I'll be nice." 

Guiding you down to his crotch, tracing the head of his dick around your lips, even letting you lap at it a little, tonguing the piercing, the sensitive skin of the head, over his slit, before he pulled you down to take him in entirely, already forcing half of himself down your throat with one quick jut of his hips.

You loved the weight of it against your tongue, the taste of pre-cum, how he filled your mouth so nicely. The chain was kept tight and he dragged his fingers through your hair, taking a fistful of it and easing you up and down on his dick, forcing your nose into a bush of black pubic hair and back up again, letting you bob your head on his dick.

He let out a few stuttery swear words through grit teeth, gripping your hair tighter and raising his fist to bite down on his knuckle. You're almost satisfied that he's reacting like this so quickly.

Kept yourself slow at first, but he quickly thrust his hips at the pace he was preferring, pressing his dick deep down your throat, ignoring you when you gagged against him, when you tried to take in desperate breaths when you could, swallowing against him, making your throat tighter so it felt better, and he groaned, deep and loud, as you moved in time with his desperate thrusts.

Your own erection lay forgotten against your stomach, something you weren't even considering for the time being, before he pressed the sole of his boot against the length, the pressure feeling absolutely beautiful when you were so desperate for it, and you bucked up against it, moaning his name around the dick down your throat, making him let out a tired, almost exhausted laugh.

"Too fuckin' good." He mumbled, so quiet you could barely hear him. "Too good to me. Fuckin' hell, you're so beautiful. Beautiful boy."

You let out a soft whine against his dick, taking him deep again, throat tight against him and forcing yourself not to gag, to push past it for him, especially when he said things like that. 

Almost convinced you that things were back to normal.

He pressed down on your length hard again, his thrusts getting more erratic, less pace, less tempo, and you could tell he was close. 

You sped up a bit, glancing up at him, and trying to gauge his reaction, his expression, anything that wasn't so needlessly cryptic. He kept himself silent though, sharp teeth biting down on his lip just to make sure. 

You didn't mind. You were used to it.

When you pulled back quickly, just as he lost it, he came over your lips, over your slack tongue, up your face, viscous fluid dripping down your skin, down your chest. You hadn't cum, though you were reaching close to climax, but you didn't think to bring it up in that moment. 

You pressed gentle kisses against his softening length, lapping at the dripping slit and smiling to yourself when he hissed, having already fallen back against the bed, exhausted and boneless. You didn't want it to stop, wanted to keep paying attention to him, but when he stroked through your hair, you knew to stop. Rested your head against his thigh as he stroked, looking up at him, waiting for him to pay attention to you again.

But he didn't. He stayed silent, and you would have thought that maybe he'd fallen asleep if he didn't keep petting your head, scratching at your scalp in a way he knew you liked. 

He didn't protest when you gripped your dick and worked yourself over into climax, though to your credit, you were quieter than usual. Nothing more to egg you on than those constant gentle touches, the choke chain now loose around your neck. 

Maybe you said 'I love you' when you did cum, in hopes that you'd get a reaction from him. Maybe you were a bit disappointed when you didn't get anything.

But that didn't matter.

You'd be alright.

You stayed like that, sitting at his feet while he stroked your hair, your head in his lap before you nodded off.

Woke up back in your room. 

Maybe that hurt more than it should have.

But you'd be alright.

Even though the marks around your neck hurt, and the bruise on your ribs were painful.

You'd be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to kinktober week 4 where i don't edit anything and i literally just write what i jerk off to
> 
> i don't have a foot fetish i swear to g-d i just really love army boots
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	26. Sorry for the Delay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 26: omorashi/watersports  
> second person, from 2D's perspective, trans 2D

It had been a relatively boring meeting when you looked back on it.

You had kept yourself quiet while Murdoc spoke over you, like he always did, only speaking up when someone specifically asked you a question, or mentioned something you had the most experience in (unless he spoke up first, of course). Occupying yourself with doodling on the handout the company had given you, playing with your fingers, trying not to make eye contact with anyone who was staring at you for too long.

Murdoc had complained about it while you walked to the tube station together, of course, he always found a reason to complain about something. Smoking a lot, even by your standards. Said it was pointless of the both of you to travel down to London for such a boring meeting where nothing got done, said you could have probably gotten away with sending Noodle down there and gotten the same result.

You mentioned, offhandedly, over your own cigarette, that you probably wouldn’t have, since she was barely ten years old and couldn’t speak a lick of English yet, but he shook it off and insisted she could perfectly understand it and would have probably retold all the important details in a vaguely entertaining manner, which made you laugh at the image.

You slipped your tickets through the security barriers at the tube station and stood at your platform, strangely barren of anyone else waiting, though this was hardly surprising since it was nearing eleven in the evening, and all the commuters had probably gone home by now, so the only people on the tubes now were probably night shifters or students going out on a weeknight.

Murdoc was still complaining about the meeting that was near forgotten by you by now, and you were concentrating on finishing your cigarette before the train pulled up. Skewed priorities, you were aware, but you weren’t allowed to nip out for one during the meeting at all, so you excused yourself by saying you were making up for lost time.

Made sense in your mind anyway.

The tube pulled up just as you finished your fag, threw away the stubbed out butt, ignoring all the bins on the platform and the signs asking you politely not to litter, and chose an empty carriage, settling down in the gaudy, brightly coloured seats, staring up at the line map above the window.

Murdoc had booked a hotel that was fairly out of the way, and while this tube line wasn’t used nearly as much as some of the ones in central, it was getting ridiculously far out and more deserted looking when your stop was somewhere in Zone 6, and you were in the relatively normal Zone 2.

Whatever, may as well make yourselves comfortable you figured. Shame you didn’t have a newspaper though.

“Is there any specific reason you chose a hotel in the middle of nowhere?” You asked, glancing over at him as he relaxed in the seat.

“Safety precaution.” He said, and you gave him a look that made him carry on. “Well, we’re not exactly regular civilians, are we? No, we’re practically famous now, lad. So I just thought it would be better if we were more out of the way, we wouldn’t get mobbed or somethin’ then.”

“Mate, we haven’t even put the first album out.” Letting out a little chuckle, leaning forward in your seat. “I don’t think one single is enough for us to get mobbed yet.”

“Well, I’m keepin’ positive. We need as many groupies as we can get.” He crossed his legs, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Plus we don’t need anyone gettin’ freaked out by how spooky ya look yet either.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ya love it.”

-

For a while, you were fine. You pulled up to empty tube stops without a care in the world, without any nervous thoughts in your brain, just staring forward and letting your mind wander away from you. You probably could have fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the constant noise, and the fact you were a particularly light sleeper.

No, everything was fine to begin with.

But maybe it was ten or so minutes into your journey when your guts started to twist and burn uncomfortably, in a way that wasn’t painful exactly, no, it was just hard enough that you knew it was there, and you started to squirm and fidget in the seat, paying attention to anything that would have distracted you.

The way Murdoc’s leg bobbed up and down, how you could hear his breathing in the bloated silence. The clickety clack of the tracks underneath your train, how the carriages adjacent to your own were starting to empty with each stop you pulled up to. Billboards and houses whipped by too quickly for you to read or look at them properly, so you instead settled for reading the ads that covered the walls of your carriage.

Books.

Musicals.

New films coming out in a theatre near you.

Passive aggressive reminders from the TFL to keep the train clean.

You remembered a nervous intern, probably a few years younger than you, with blonde hair in a tight ponytail and scruffy looking offical clothes grabbed out from the back of her wardrobe, offering you tea or coffee when you had sat down for the meeting, and persistently refilling your cup every time you had finished, despite not asking her to, though you always drank it because you felt bad for her and wanted to give her something to do.

Obviously you were paying for your kindness though, as the urge to piss became stronger and stronger as each minute passed.

You bit down on your lip hard, legs crossed tight, both hands pressed up against your crotch, eyes squeezed shut, still trying to focus on the dull sounds of the trains engines working underneath you. Trying not to whimper or whine, trying not to bring any kind of attention to yourself even though there wasn’t anyone else in the carriage with the two of you, just so you wouldn’t have to hear it yourself. You hated how much you were already squirming in your seat, how much self control it was taking you not to let go, how much you had to force yourself to stop.

Clearly all your fidgeting had alerted Murdoc though, since he looked over at you with a little frown, dark brows furrowed under his fringe.

“What’s up with you?” He asked.

“Mate, I really have to piss.” You muttered under your breath, digging your hands against your crotch harder, and he let out a sudden laugh at your expense. “Shut up! I’ve had to for ages!”

“Why didn’t ya go before we left then, ya dullard?” He said, quite loudly (that made you nervous, despite your empty carriage), and with an unsympathetic grin.

“I didn’t have to go then! That girl just kept givin’ me cups of tea, didn’t even ask her to. Didn’t wanna look rude, alright?” You protested, your body lurching uncomfortably whenever you tried to move, whenever you spoke, making you grimace, though he was still just laughing in spite of you, since this was clearly the funniest thing in the world to him. “Stop laughin’ at me! I wouldn’t laugh at you!”

“Well yeah.” He said, wiping away a non-existent tear. “But that’s cus I wouldn’t get myself into a situation like yours, would I?”

“Fuck off, I just forgot…” You mumbled, looking down at your feet, crossing and uncrossing your trainers over each other as a means to distract yourself, as a means to make you think about anything you could that wasn’t the pressing force on your bladder. Or gushing water. Or anything wet for that matter.

He just kept chuckling to himself though, looking ahead at all of the passing lights of the London city skyline, mere pinpricks on the dark night sky. You couldn’t focus on that though, no matter how much you wanted to because you did find London very pretty in the night time, having to keep your mind filled with dry thoughts instead.

Desserts. Sand. Sharon Turner when you tried to finger her after the prom after party. The heat in an oven. Stuff like that.

But it was okay. You were halfway done with your tube journey and it wasn’t going to take longer than about twenty minutes to get to your stop, where there would be a bathroom and you’ve be able to relieve yourself.

You let out a steady breath and kept your body tight, keeping that in mind. It would be over soon, and you could last another twenty minutes, even though it was quickly starting to hurt to hold it. But whatever. You could handle it. You would handle it.

You didn’t have any other choice, after all.

To distract yourself a little more, you decided to stand up and pace through the carriage a bit, still keeping your body tight, mind, but just give yourself something to think about. Keep one foot in front of the other. Murdoc just hummed a little melody to himself, still smiling, obviously as amused as ever, but you weren’t going to think about that, weren’t going to think about him.

Nope. Just distract yourself.

But, because fate was cruel and the world hated your guts, the train pulled up to a stop without there being a stop to pull up to. You looked up at the doors quickly, as if you were waiting for them to slide open, but to no avail.

Glanced back over at Murdoc who just shrugged his shoulders apathetically, seemingly uncaring of your dire situation. But this wasn’t exactly a surprise for him, after all.

“Any idea what’s going on?” You asked him, and he shrugged again, looking up at you again.

“S’pose it’s a delay. Or someone’s hijacking the train. Who knows.” He said with a characteristic smirk.

“Ya shouldn’t joke about that…” You mumbled, before another lurch on your stomach made you almost buckle over, and you gripped onto the yellow handrail above your head tightly.

The was a crackle over the intercom, which quickly alerted you out of your despair.

“We’re sorry about the delay to your journey.” A female voice sounded over the intercom as you gripped tighter onto the handrail above you. “There’s been some unexpected maintenance on the train line due to vandalism. We’re expecting to be delayed for another ten minutes. We apologise again.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, come on!!” You shouted over at the tiny speaker, clutching at yourself even tighter. “Oh fuck, god, I’m not gonna last.” Whimpering, you looked back over at Murdoc desperately, who looked as nonchalant as ever, glancing up at the map above the other seats, as if none of this bothered him. “Ya don’t have a bottle in your bag or somethin’, do ya?”

“Nope, sorry.” Shaking his head, but still smirking in your direction, leaning back on the gaudy overground tube seats. “Ya do know that people have pissed on tubes before, right? It’s not like you’re gonna be the first one.”

“I don’t want to piss myself full stop, Murdoc!” Glaring over at him with an irritated look on his face, hoping it would be enough for him to get the message. “Let alone on a bloody train of all places…”

He rolled his eyes with a little chuckle, shaking his head, as if what you just said was ridiculous, as if he couldn’t understand why you were being so prude-ish. .

“Alright, alright, don’t cause such a drama.” He said, standing up from his seat and wandering over to the doors, peeking out into the murky dark. “Not that bad, is it? Not like we have anywhere to go. Really, if we were stuck here all night it wouldn’t be that bad, would it?”

“It’s gonna be a bloody problem if I piss myself!” Bladder aching and stirring again. “You’re just makin’ fun of me now…”

He looked over at you with a dark, mischievous look in his eyes and took slow, deliberate steps over to where you stood until he was standing behind you, his height no where near as obnoxiously short as it usually was, carelessly ran his fingers down your back, down your sides and over your hips, pulling your body back against him as you held onto the handrail tight, eyes squeezed shut, anything to distract yourself, wondering if those gentle skimming touches would do anything in means of a distraction for yourself. Yeah, just pay attention to those and not how much your bladder was starting to hurt.

His hand then slipped from your hip and ran down over your stomach, pressing down lightly, applying a minimal amount of pressure against your aching bladder, as if he didn’t even mean to do it, but you knew what he was planning and his gestures were more than enough to get you gasping and squirming, knuckles clenched tight, biting down on your lip, terrified that you were going to let go under his touch.

He pressed his lips against your neck in an illusion of a sweet kiss, though he was chuckling at the way you kept fidgeting against him, another hand dropping down to stroke your thighs, where your legs were crossed from desperation, to urge them apart, getting rid of that comforting force on your bladder and any kind of stability you had in that moment, just so he could see you in that state he liked so much.

“Murdoc, please…” You whimpered, flinching against every one of his touches now, suddenly hyper aware of all of his attention and what his real motive was. “Really can’t do this right now…”

“Aw, come on, mate.” He crooned softly, kissing up to your ear, running his tongue over your lobe, making you moan and whimper. The hand on your thigh suddenly slipping upwards and fiddling with your jeans effortlessly and so well practiced, tracing over the front of your briefs once they were open. “No-one’s lookin’ at us. No-one gives a shit what we do.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” You spoke through grit teeth and your body was starting to shake and tremble involuntarily, spasms and shudders shaking you down into your core. “Sort of the least of my worries right now.”

“Mm, I s'pose that’s true.” The gentle tone of his voice was doing nothing to settle you either, if anything it was just unnerving you even further. “Can’t really help myself though, can I? When you’re lookin’ all desperate and cute like that.” Dipping his hand down the front of your briefs and stroking over your erect (yes, erect, to your dismay) clit with slow, teasing strokes, making you gasp out, covering your mouth quickly just to sound less obnoxious. “I’m only human, after all.” A dark little chuckle slipping from his lips made you shudder even more than his persistent kisses and laps at your more sensitive areas were.

“We can do it later, alright. I promise we can!” Your last few words were forced out of you though, when he pushed a finger inside of you, with such ease and so little resistance against his dry touch, your eyes blown wide and white from shock, accompanied by a whine from the cold on his skin. “A-At the station or somethin’. Public bathroom. When we’re back at the hotel, whatever ya wanna do.” Voice shaking, composure breaking into tiny pieces, just the way he liked you. “Come on, Murdoc, I’m not gonna last if ya do this…” You cringed at how small and desperate you sounded, how borderline childish you must have sounded to him, though you were completely at his mercy, just like usual.

“Then don’t try to last.” He whispered with an audible smirk as he pushed deeper inside of you, sharp nails scratching at your insides in a way you utterly loved, made you shudder and moan even louder just being against him. “I don’t mind if you let go. I’ve already seen enough of the gross shit you do, this ain’t gonna deter me in anyway, trust me.”

“God, you’re fuckin’ evil.” You thrust your hips up against him, desperate for any kind of further stimulation even though you knew he wasn’t going to give it to you if he could help it.

“Yeah, and ya better not forget it.” Pressing deeper inside of you, smirking on your skin.

Maybe a small part of your head was screaming at you for letting this happen as well, letting him feel you up when you were in a position like this, in public no less, where the train could just start up again at any time, and it wasn’t like you were the only ones on the entire train either, you were just lucky enough to have a few carriages to yourself, lucky enough that it was late at night and people weren’t travelling on this line for some reason.

Your head fell heavy in shame and you kept your eyes trained down, holding onto the handrail like it was a lifeline, your body shuddering as he finger fucked you, just trying to hold on long enough that the train would start again and he’d have to stop, and let you go back to being desperate over one thing instead of two, stop trying to force the other thing out of you like some sort of sadist.

Eventually, his constant onslaught became too much, your bladder starting to feel like it was bursting inside of you. You let out an agonized little whine through a tight grimace, squeezing your eyes shut, still thrusting up against him, ever desperate for his relentless touching, despite how much your gut was lurching and how much it hurt.

It was getting harder and harder to keep your tight hold, but without any kind of potential privacy or a promise of an actual bathroom, you couldn’t help yourself. Your pride was meaning less and less to you as each second past, until it had quickly crumbled into nothingness and you had no reason not to just give in.

You let out the smallest, most pathetic sounding whimper when you finally let go against his fingers, tiny spurts at first as you were still trying to hold on, but when you found that you couldn’t hold it back any longer, a steady, almost torrential stream came out of you, forcing a soft, relieved whine from your lips as you finally let yourself go.

You were almost ashamed of how much of it there was, obviously all of the tea the intern had given you having passed right through you, pooling inside of your briefs momentarily before leaking through the thin fabric, staining your jeans sodden, trickling down your leg, against your skin and finally, dripping onto the floor of the train, the sounds so sickeningly clear in clarity that it made you want to cry. A noticeable dark wet patch gathered over the front of your trousers, disgustingly warm to begin with but getting progressively colder and more uncomfortable as you kept yourself still, as if you were trying to deny that it had even happened, trying not to acknowledge it in anyway.

Your accident hadn’t deterred Murdoc, though he did pull his fingers out of you, his goal clearly having been achieved. Sat back down on the gaudy train seats, crossed his arms over his chest, looking incredibly smug and proud of himself, though he didn’t have to look at you to prove it.

You stayed standing, slightly dazed that what had just happened actually happened at all, looking back over to him as if you were trying to get an explanation from him. 

“Well, ya don’t have to piss anymore now, do you?” He said, looking up at you, a cheeky smile on his face.

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, suddenly even more aware of how cold you were as the urine kept dripping down your trouser leg, the staining keeping you even colder. 

“Gonna say thank you?”

“You’re a right cunt sometimes, ya know.” You huffed, as you took your space next to him again, though he was still smiling.

“Yeah, but ya love it” An affectionate arm around your shoulder that you couldn’t help but tuck yourself against, no matter how annoyed you were. “Smell like arse though.”

“And I’m gonna until this train starts again, so I don’t wanna hear you complainin’ about it.”

“So forceful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a gotdam university student and i've had essays due for the past week i can't spend all my hours writing pornography even though i'd like to alright
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	27. Frankenstein Boys Will Seem Strangely Sexy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 27: monsters  
> second person, from murdoc’s perspective. trans 2D, au, don’t fuck guts

On the first day, a Wednesday, he was insufferable.

His eyes were open and he was moving, at the very least, even though he wasn't doing it very well, his feet stumbling underneath him and having to grip onto anything around him so he didn't fall into a heap on the floor. He was better to stay on the operating table, staring at the sky through the glass ceiling, looking at the stars without any thoughts coming into his head yet. He wasn’t used to it yet.

He barely spoke either, and when he did, they weren't words exactly, more like rough grunts and weird little noises, tilted his head to the side whenever you spoke to him, as if he could barely understand you, just endearing enough that it wasn't annoying.

You knew he wasn’t going to be used to thoughts or brainwaves on the first day, though you had hoped that they would. You had hoped for some kind of compelling conversation, considering how much you had spent on his brain, but you were far from that right now. But that wasn’t a problem.

On the first night, you imagined fucking his face, his wordless grunts and moans around your dick, gripping his hair, his head thoughtless and brainless and so easily manipulated. Maybe you felt a little bad about that fantasy, but it wasn’t like you were going to do it or anything.

You had some standards

-

After the first weekend together passed though, things started to become much more promising and a hopeful light was shining in view..

He was picking up on your patterns of speech and learning new words that you taught him (and it was funny to hear him say swear words with a sweet smile on his face, like he didn't know what he was saying). His voice box was a bit croaky and strained, you assumed from years of misuse, but it fit him well, very characteristic, you thought. It wasn't going to be something that you would replace any time soon anyway. You liked the way it cracked.

He wasn't stumbling when he was walking either, though he still wobbled and grabbed at anything close to him just to stable himself, as a means of support. He was still unsure of himself, that much was clear, but that would be trained out of him by the time you showed him off to the academy.

He was really very smart too, or at least he was getting smarter as you kept teaching him. The brain investment was working out in your favour, evidenced when he did simple problems you gave him and read the books you left around the lab to fill his time in between teaching and lessons, and you were more than sure that he was truly a  testament to your genius without any trip ups so far.

On the fifth night, you imagined him sitting on your face, begging for you to fuck him and touch him, make his brain swim with want. Tripping up on his words, his voice cracking when he moaned and whined, gripping at the headboard of your bed as he grinded his hips down against your tongue as you fucked him with it.

You were still going to wait for him though. You didn’t want to push him, even though you wanted to.

-

Two weeks in, he was like his own person, in a beautiful kind of way.

He was innocent and naive, yes, but he had a dirty sense of humour, sarcastic and cocky when he could be, never worried about bothering you during your work or your experiments.

He walked with a personal kind of swagger, a hunch that made him look shorter, much to your dismay. He grinned bright smiles, unbothered by his own rotting skin and constant dripping wounds, the way you could see yellowing bone against red muscle and ashen skin.

He was like his own person.

On that fifteenth night, he slept in the same bed as you, and he kissed you for the first time. Innocent and gentle, a peck, as if he didn't know how you would react to it. You didn't follow it with anything else, left him to make his own mind about it.

You imagined him bending you over your own operating table and fucking you deep as you collared him, held a leash tight and forced him to fuck you even harder, even faster, not even needing to tell him to.

Maybe you'd get to him about it next time this happened.

-

He needed a checkup, at least that’s what your excuse had been to pin him down on the lab operating table again.

The thick metal cuffs clicked tight around his wrists and ankles, though he didn't squirm or pull at them at all, just looked up at you, watching as you pulled the overhead lamp up his body and over his head, illuminating his dark empty sockets, shining the light into them as he flinched underneath the harsh white light. You prodded at his fluttering eyelids gently, prying them apart so you could see into his head better, examining the spaces in his skull.  
"Any issues with ya sight yet?" You asked, reaching down for a pair of silver forceps from the metal side table. He shook his head weakly under your touch and you gripped his bottom lid with the the clasp, dragging it down to give you a better view of his medial walls. "Strange, ain't it? No eyeballs in your skull, yet you can still see. Brain must be pretty good, eh?"   
"Yeah, must be." He mumbled, barely moving underneath the metal so close to his eyes (or lack thereof.) You put the forceps down again, tracing your fingers over the rim of the side table, over all of your implements, admiring his still body closely, each loving stitch, each staple you used to piece his body together, every part of him catered towards your perfect vision, every part of him catered just for you.   
Really, in your mind, it was silly to assume that you didn't build your creation for a few selfish reasons. Yes, you wanted to show off to the academy and he was a perfect example of your genius, your life of hard work, nothing else would have done it so perfectly.   
But, as you were saying, you had more reasons other than just to inflate your ego.   
There was a reason you made him so tall, thin and lanky, with piano playing fingers, even if the flesh was cold and rotten and the fingernails were discoloured and torn skin that bled when he fiddled and pulled at it. There was a reason he had a young, kind face, under all the stitching, big hopeful eyes despite the spooky, empty sockets. Missing a few teeth, yes, but that was hardly an issue in your mind, particularly when it made him look even more endearing and sweet.

"You haven't told me about any issues. Anythin' come up yet?" You asked again, but he shook his head, watching as you picked through scalpels and metal implements, biting his lip as you fingered sharp blades, skating fingertips over the red stained teeth of a bonesaw. "You can tell me if there is. It won't hurt to fix anything."

"Nothin' has come up, alright." He forced out, flinching when your fingers stopped touching your implements, your gloved fingers reflecting on the shiny metal of the side table.

You hummed to yourself, looking up and down his body, with a sly smirk to yourself.

"I think I'd like to have a peek at what's under the hood, if ya don't mind?" You said with a teasing smirk, tracing a sharp fingertip over the tip of a scalpel on your side table. "Just wanna make sure everything's workin' the way it should, in case there’s any kind of problem, understand?."

2D's eyes (or again, lack thereof) widened suddenly as you held up the scalpel to the light of the lamp, his hands clenched into tight fists, staring up at the shining metal.

It was funny, in a way though.

He couldn't feel pain and both you and him knew that. It was one of the things that made him less human in that way, lacking integral, important parts, but human wasn't what you were striving for.

You were striving for perfection.

At least your definition of perfection anyway.

"Why wouldn't it be working?" He asked, his voice almost shaking, pulling at the metal cuffs. You simply smirked though and pressed the blade of the scalpel against the fabric of his tattered shirt, cutting through it like tissue paper, making a light, reddish indentation on the stitched together patchwork of skin on his chest.

"No reason, just wanna check everything is working properly. Not even worth thinkin' about really. Just trust me.”

You pressed the blade harder against his skin and dragged it down his chest, down his sternum, blood seeping out of the deep cut and staining his mottled skin deep red. A deep laceration that opened up his body for you, and as you cut more into him, more blood spilled and more of his organs were exposed for you. Tangled guts, discoloured organs underneath yellowing bone and congealed blood pooling underneath his shaking body.

Your thoughtless cutting and slicing was almost entertaining, in a sickly, morbid kind of way. You liked the contrast of the red on his skin, loved how raw and sick the organs looked underneath his ribcage. A deeper part of you liked looking how he shook and squirmed under your scalpel, how he bit on his lip so hard it bled, how he watched you with morbid fascination, sickened but unable to tear his eyes away from you. Funny thing was, the only thing you could consider was how much more stitching you were going to have to do to fix your recklessness.

But it would be worth it.

He didn't squirm from the pain, no, but he was squeamish and his skin was pale and he was sweating, staring down at himself, bloody and gorey.

You liked it when he looked like that.

Driven by your blood lust, you slammed your scalpel down into the pooling blood on the table and thoughtlessly drove your hands deep into his tangled intestines, squeezing at them, feeling cold, wet blood soak through your gloves, stain your skin, and you were driven to pull at them, tug them out of his body, playing with them carelessly, watching them spill further down his front. Biting your lip hard, your vocal tics acting up excitedly as you watched more of his blood spill out of him.

"A-Are ya still checkin'?" Voice cracked and shaky.

When you glanced at him again, it struck you that you had almost forgotten that he was even alive, that you had been treating him as if he were a cadaver that you had used to play out your morbid fantasies with frequently before. But the thought of him being alive, receptive, being able to respond to all your sick little games was even more exciting.

“Might need to get a bit more...hands on, if y’get me.” You said, as you pulled your hands out of his stomach, and moved up to straddle his hips, smirking down on him as he flinched underneath your touch, his breathing shallow as he pulled at the thick cuffs. “Strictly medical, of course. Gotta make sure my prime exhibit is in the best condition he can be, don’t I?”

“Whatever ya need t’do.” He mumbled, shifting underneath you, not even making an attempt to sustain any kind of eye contact with you, clearly intimidated by your power over him.

You’d have to get rid of that though. You didn’t want him to be intimidated or scared of you. At least not all of the time.

It was hardly a surprise that your dick was hard just from looking at his at his blood soaked body so open just for you. And maybe all the accusations of you being crazy were actually true, because you felt compelled to unzip your trousers and press your dick inside his tangled mess of guts, wrapping them around your length and giving yourself a sufficient hole to fuck.

You roughly ripped open the thick stitches on his chest, delved your hands deep past his rib cage, past his blackened, deflated lungs and giving his slowly thumping heart a gentle squeeze as you pressed yourself deeper into his tangled guts, thick blood coating your skin but doing nothing to deter you from fucking the gaping hole in his stomach.

“Sweet fuckin’ Satan, 2D, I can feel it beatin' for me." You whispered harshly, clenching your fist tighter around the slowly beating muscle. "My beautiful monster." Stroking your fingers down his cheek affectionately, smearing sticky blood on his skin, over the black stitches that tied him to you. "Do you love me?" A thumb tracing over his mouth stitches as you pressed yourself deeper into the mess of guts, not even warm enough to feel human but that giving you all the more reason to love it. "Love me as much as I love you?"

"I dunno.” He said softly, shifting against the table. “I-I don't know what that's supposed t'feel like. Never felt it before." You simply clenched onto his heart harder.

"Your heart is beatin' faster, ain’t it? Started beatin’ like that when I started?" You asked and he nodded his head quickly, beginning to understand the new and unfamiliar feeling against his rib cage. "That's what it feels like.” Through manic little titters and tics. “That’s how ya know you’re in love. That's what happens to me when I see you after all, my darling monster." Breathless as you thrusted desperately inside him. “I made you just for me. I was in love with ya before you could even speak. Yes, my sweet, darling boy. Daddy’s perfect angel.”

A shaking, sweet smile came to his face and you cupped his chin gently with shaking excited hands, bringing your lips down against his in a soft kiss as you thrust your hips up against his bloody guts, reaching down to tangle them around your length, giving yourself a tight hole to fuck as the kiss got harder, biting and harsh, the taste of embalming fluid on your tongue but doing nothing to deter you though, only pushing your lust even further.

You pulled away from the kiss, breathing hot and heavy as you got closer to your edge, closer to climax, pressing your face hard against his shoulder, biting and sucking dark love bites on his rotting skin, relishing in all of his desperate noises, the way he uselessly bucked his hips up against yours, and you imagined how wet his hole must have been for you, how tight his newly reinforced hymen would have felt against you on his first time, how you could fuck him as hard as you wanted because his shot nerves wouldn’t let him feel any of the pain that would have usually come with rough fucking.

It didn't take long for you to reach your peak and climax inside of him, the white mingling with red, the smell of gore and sex hitting you like a wave.

You breathed heavy as you pulled out of the tight coil of guts, dripping ejaculate inside the gaping hole, licking your lips and almost feeling compelled just to fuck him again.

But you weren't that selfish. Even if he was your monster and every part of him belonged to you and only you, you wanted to satisfy him. You loved him, of course you did, and seeing him squirming and whimpering as you fucked him into his own climax, pulling at his cuffs in a pool of his own blood and gore.

You reached down through the mess of guts to tug his jeans down, stroke over his labia, part his folds and press a finger deep inside of him without any kind of resistance because he was so wet already, arching up against the operating table with a long, desperate whine. Two fingers inside him, pushing in and out, watching his beautiful face react to this sudden new feeling, gasping out until he couldn't breath, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to tug away his thick cuffs, trying to move underneath you.

"Does that feel good, angel?" You asked, and he nodded frantically, bucking his hips up against you as you curled your fingers inside of him, rubbing at all the sensitive little nerves inside of him, relishing in all of his whines and whimpers, drawn out, begging for more.

With your free hand, you traced bloody fingers over his erect clit, stroking and pinching. His head tipped back and tiny spasms shook his body apart, the shaking doing enough to make his guts spill onto the table, leaving the torn skin sticky with coagulated blood. Kept teasing his clit, smirking down on him as he begged and whimpered, close to screaming from pure frustration.

"Gonna cum for me, darling?" Thrusting deeper inside of him, and he made soft whimpering noises of acknowledgment, unable to make words anymore, not like you minded though. "Yeah? Want Daddy to fuck ya so hard you can't think, don't you?" Dipping your head to kiss over the bites on his skin, musing to yourself about how you'd have to hide the bruises before you presented him to the academy but for now, you'd bite him and mark him as your own, because he was your's.

And you wanted to remind yourself that he was your's, forever.

"Never leave me." You growled against his skin, biting down again, making him cry out harder as you fucked him deeper, scratching at his shot nerves. "You're mine." Pinching his clit, hearing him whimper. "No-one else would love you like I do. No-one else would do this for you."

He pressed his face tightly against his forearm, not wanting to say anything.

"They're the real monsters out there, 2D." Accentuating each word with a harsh thrust. "They'd tear you apart. Destroy you, they'd kill you, understand? You're safe with me, I'll keep you safe."

He looked back up to you, nodded his head hesitantly, and the look on his face almost made you stop, and reassess what you were telling him, but you kept going, kept pushing him. Because you wanted to.

Kissed up his neck, his cheek, soft little pecks on his whimpering lips, smiling against his rotting skin.

"Tell Daddy how much you love him, angel." You whispered, feeling him contract tightly against your fingers.

"I-I love you, Daddy. Whatever it's supposed t'feel like." Bucking up hard against you faster, more erratic, no kind of control. "Keep me safe. Please. I know you will. Just please promise you will."

"I promise." Kissing over his ear, feeling him gush against your fingers and slowing your thrusting down, wiping your dripping fingers on his labia and thighs, satisfied when he shuddered against your touch.

"I promise I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i go to university and i have depression BUT I'M GOING TO FINISH THIS FUCKING CHALLENGE I SWEAR TO FUCKING G-D
> 
> third msi title reference lmao
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	28. We're So Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 28: shotgunning  
> second person, from murdoc's perspective. first part of a double feature

So.

Apparently his name was Stuart.

That’s what you’d be told anyway.

Admittedly your information source might have been pretty bad. David from the campus shop was connected through a friend of a friend of a boyfriend of a housemate of his and he had given you the amount of information that you had needed during a smoking break in the middle of a busy morning shift of his.

He apparently studied Law, but he was active enough in the dramatic and music societies to suggest otherwise, which got a lot of people confused as to why he was even studying Law in the first place. Apparently people were usually surprised when they found out he wasn’t, in fact, a drama student as well, and even went as far as to not believe him until he proved otherwise.

This was not only backed by David’s claims but also evidenced by the sorts of people he hung out with and how often you had spotted him on a busy table of drama students that were line learning and singing songs across the canteen while he read from a textbook that looked dull enough to put you to sleep.

He was twenty two and looked it, lived on the far side of the campus. He had a job as a retail worker in an independent clothing-comma-record store called Wire in the city that he walked to every Wednesday afternoon, though he always had a crap looking car parked by his block of flats that barely moved. David had also mentioned there was a rumour going round that he was dating one of his housemates but it had turned out to be fake and they were just fucking. You’re annoyed about how relieved you were about that fact.

He had blue hair that didn’t look dyed and apparently wasn’t, a wide gap in his teeth that showed off whenever he smiled (gross), and plainly put, the voice of some kind of twisted angel that made you feel weird whenever you heard it.

You’d interacted with him a couple of times outside of your casual stalking and staring as well though, just so you didn’t sound too desperate.

He went to the same smoking area on campus that you did, and for some reason he’d always borrow your lighter whenever you bumped into each other, always offered the same stupid (cute) apologetic smile when you scowled at his direction and lit his cigarette for him (without giving him your lighter, of course. You didn’t want his grubby hands on it, after all, no matter how much you wanted in his trousers.)

He was sweet though, even though he didn’t really know you. He generally tried to make small talk with you, since you saw each other a lot, always asked how your lecture was going or made small anecdotes about how shit the weather was or how drunk he had gotten the night before. Despite his best efforts, you always told him the same, that you were never in the mood to talk to him, so you mostly ignored him, sometimes interjecting his stories by telling him you didn’t care, tell him to just shut up and let you enjoy the silence while you had it. And while he always did shut up when you told him to, he’d come back the next day, full of stories and little anecdotes, asking you questions about yourself and ignoring your clear distaste for all of his questions and mental jabbing.

To anyone else, that would be counter intuitive. What was the point of practically stalking a guy for half a semester and then acting like a tosser to him whenever he actually spoke to you? And you had to admit, you could understand where that logic was coming from.

But it was obvious what sort of game you were playing.

You were simply playing hard to get, that’s the method that every teen film in the 80’s had proven to work the most.

Your mum always told you that boys picked on girls because they liked them, and while she’d told you that she raised you better than that and you shouldn’t do that if you liked a girl in any kind of way, you figured that the rule maybe applied to boys who liked boys as well, and maybe you’d be able to pick on them without any kind of underlying misogyny to your teasing words either.

You didn’t really know, not like you could ask her.

Besides, your pride was much to big to go simpering after him whenever he talked to you. No, you’d get him to wait for it, whatever “it” was.

One day, when you’re skiving from a lecture and you were forced to huddle close to him under a flimsy wooden gazebo in the smoking area to avoid the rain, he asked you a question, like he usually did.

“So, what d'ya study here that makes you wanna smoke so much then?”

You smirked to yourself, and since you liked the pessimistic phrasing of the question enough, you thought you would grace him an answer this time.

“Social studies.” You said, as you brought your cigarette up to your lips for a long drag, huddling yourself in your jacket. “Or possibly the most depressing thing a bloke could study. If ya didn’t wanna off yourself before, ya certainly will want t’after.”

Your anecdote had made him laugh and you smiled privately as you breathed out smoke, not giving him a chance to see any change you might have had to your expression.

“How about you?” You asked, and the fact that you were opening up a conversation with him must have been blowing his mind.

“Oh, er, I study Law. Just as depressing, honestly.” He said brightly. “Every day we’re talkin’ about a new murder case or tax fraud case or some shit. Really messes with your head. Need a lot of breaks to get away from it.” A little chuckle at his own expense.

“I can imagine.” You said, and that was that. You took another drag from your cigarette and left him looking at you, waiting for you to say something else.

“I’m Stuart, by the way.”

Pause.

“Murdoc.”

“Oh, where’s that from?” He asked, and you gave him a questioning kind of look, making him pull an awkward face.”…Er, sorry, is that rude for me to ask?”

“It’s from Stoke-On-Trent, mate.” You said gruffly, exhaling a breath of thick smoke, looking over at him from the corner of your eye.

“Right, sorry.”

-

“I got an extra ticket to a show tonight, if ya wanna come with me.”

It was about two weeks into your one sided friendship that admittedly consisted mostly of smoking cigarettes and exchanging disorganized banter, petty insults from you and thoughtless small talk in return from him. You didn’t know what he was getting from this kind of operation but he was still sticking around anyway, so it didn’t matter all that much why he was doing it.

He was still polite and nice to you as well, no matter what you said to him, and his sheer determination was almost. Endearing in a weird way. His relentless pursuits to befriend you and how many times he shook off your insults and name calling, no matter how mean they were. It made your exchanges feel very schoolyard, if that made sense to anyone other than you.

Again, maybe counter intuitive on your part, but it was proving to be effective anyway, so fuck whoever thought your method wasn’t working.

Clearly your current arrangement wasn’t doing it for him anymore though, and he was going to try and step it up a bit more. Fair, you thought, he deserved it by now. So you’d bite.

“What kind of show?” You asked, keeping your voice as neutral and bored as you possibly could as you flicked away cigarette ash, not letting him know you were actually kind of interested, the perfect picture of nonchalance.

“Just a…kind of punk rave thing.” He mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, looking down at his feet. “It sounds kind of stupid, I know, but it’s a really good club and I go there all the time.” He was probably nervous about what you thought in his tastes of music or something like that. Cute. Really fucking cute.

You shrugged and took another drag from your cigarette, keeping your eyes locked forward, completely uninterested. Cool. Like all the bad boys in trench coats in the 80’s films you seemed to get all your romantic advice from. Oh yeah, so cool.

“Yeah, it does sound kind of stupid.” Smirking at the little chuckle he let out at his own expense. “Where is it then?”

“In town.” He stood up a little, clearly a bit more hopeful about your answer. “Er, it’s kind of an underground place called The Pit? Proper out of it, ya gotta book a ticket for every night you wanna go in! Imagine that!”

“And why do you have two tickets exactly?” Finally looking over at him to see his cheeks flash beet red and his posture immediately slouch again.

“Well, er…” Playing with his fingers. “I sort of. Asked for two.” Still staring down. “Ya know. Just in case you…maybe wanted t'go with me?”

You gave him a bemused looking smirk as you took the last drag of your cigarette, and he flashed you a hopeful smile, showing off the gap in his teeth that you liked so much.

“That must sound pretty stupid, eh?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You said, tossing the butt down and crushing it with your heel. “It is pretty stupid.” Chuckled at his dejected look before you stuffed your hands into your pockets. “Stupid enough for me to check out this place though.”

He looked back up at you then, his face beaming with a wide smile.

“A-Alright! Want me t'pick you up tonight then?” Stumbling on his words already, practically vibrating with excitement. Sort of weird, but sweet enough that you could tolerate it.

“Yeah, alright.” A casual, even bored look his way. Keep him wanting more. “Need my address or d'ya want me on campus?”

“Er…y'could give me your address if ya want.” The blush was back, the fiddly little gestures he was making with his fingers were back too, but you liked them and how much of his personality seemed to show by the way he smiled and the little actions he did idly without even thinking, so you delved into your satchel for a notebook and pen, and quickly scribbled down your address and number for him. Tore out the page and gave it to him.

“Give me a heads up when you’re comin’ round.” You said, hitching the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “I’ll have t’tell my housemates to put some clothes on for once. Maybe ten-ish, if that’s alright with ya?”

“Yeah, okay.” He said, starry eyes wide with near disbelief, holding onto the torn notebook paper like it were a lifeline. “Ten sounds…yeah, ten sounds good! Sounds great!” His soft, meek look quickly split into an excited smile, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly touched about how eager he was.

“See ya then, nancy boy.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you walked away.

-

It was ten past ten when he pulled into the parking drive of your house in a shitty ten year old Nova that made you laugh as soon as you saw it, and two minutes later when Cat was yelling your name up the stairs about someone being here to pick you up and to hurry down.

You were up there barely five more minutes, but that had been long enough that he’d gotten himself comfortable in your living space and lord, was he a sight when you came down the stairs as well, sitting amongst your housemates. You wished you could have taken a picture of how awkward he looked, squeaky clean and boring amongst piles of beer bottles and the black leather and spikes your friends were clad in, naturally.

Cat was underdressed, in ripped up fishnets and a tight band-shirt barely covering her boyshorts, back to nursing a bong in her lap like usual while David played a shooter on the tiny television perched on a milk crate in the corner of the room, still wearing his work uniform but his jacket draped on his shoulders. You glanced over at Stuart with a little smirk, sitting on the arm of the sofa as you reached down for your army boots under a pile of bills and newspapers and laced them up.

“Y'alright, mate?” You asked him, and he nodded, got up to his feet to stand in the doorway of the room as you got yourself ready. “Look a bit spooked, mind. My arsehole friends bein’ rough on you?”

“I’ll have ya know, we’ve been nothin but lovely to the lad.” Cat interjected with a stream of white smoke, her heavy northern accent rasped and forced. “Haven’t we, Dave?”

David nodded, eyes still glued to the Playstation, holding the controller so close to his body that the thick wire was taught, pulling the console closer to his armchair.

“See. No harm done.”

“Whatever you say, love.” You said, standing back up onto your feet and pocketing your keys from the window sill. Stuart was still silent. “Mikey been back yet?” You asked, fingering the key ring in your pocket, noticing the absence of your other…housemate in the room.

“Nah mate, he’s been out all day.” David mumbled, reaching for a beer can at his side. “I told yous that he’s fuckin’ Tish from the canteen, ain’t believin’ me though, are yas?”

“He’s gay, David.”

“Still fuckin’ her, mate, I swear it.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll see you lot later, alright?”

Sweet satan, you needed to get him out of there. He didn’t have to know about anything more about your waste head friends, especially didn’t need to know anything more about Mikey. Good fucking grief.

Luckily he was more than fine with moving past any of the conversations you’d had with David though, and you were well on your way to the underground show that he had spoken oh so highly about.

And maybe you were a little more interested in his mystery show now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> depression got me good and this chapter is too fucking long for a standalone chapter. lil update, big update comes tomorrow. i'm tired. uni's done now so i'll try to finish these fics before the week is over. let's hope, shall we?
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	29. Let's Dance to Joy Division

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 28: shotgunning  
> second person, from murdoc's perspective, university au

The two of you sat down just by the exit door after he slammed it shut again, slid down to the ground until your jeans felt damp and your boots slipped on the rain slicked concrete, looking up at the starless black sky.

You were relieved to have finally escaped the packed in club. No matter how good the music was and how much you liked the atmosphere, there were a lot of people who clearly thought the same as you, and trying to navigate yourself through a crowd that heavy and violent was difficult enough, let alone when you’d taken half an ecstasy pill at the beginning of the night before you’d even left the car yet.

Sweet fucking satan, maybe you were getting too old for this 

Stuart was already fumbling in the pockets of his jacket when you looked back over to him, and you immediately grimaced, almost edging away from him. **  
**

“Nah, mate, I’m not takin’ anymore pills.” You said through your tight frown. “Last lot ya gave me sent me loopy enough.”

He gave you a bemused look before he laughed out loud, bright and airy, as if he wasn’t losing his mind on ecstasy in a crowded mosh pit and shoving his tongue down the throat of a girl with dyed hair and fishnet stockings barely minutes ago.

“Nah, no more pills, I promise.” He said, shaking his head as his laugh turned to little giggles and pulled out a tin cigarette box, opening it up for you to see. “Here, d'ya smoke?” He asked, and laughed again when you gave him a face, since he clearly knew how much you smoked, it being the very reason you were even behind this club in the first place. “Nah, not like that, mate, I mean smoke smoke.”

“What the fuck does that mean, ya fuckin’ waster?” You growled, looking down at your feet.

“I mean.” He said, still smiling like a dope and edging his way closer to you. “Do you want to share a joint with me?” Enunciating his words very clearly, leaving a noticeable pause between each of the words, like he was talking to a child. You were sure he probably didn’t mean it in that way, but you still suddenly felt a little stupid and hoped that the flickering neon glow from the wall lights weren’t showing your sheepish look, or how burning red your cheeks were.

You kept your gaze down but nodded your head quickly, and he fished one of the pre-rolled joints out of the tin, stuffed it between his lips and you felt compelled to go for your lighter in your jeans and light it for him, in an odd moment of subservient intimacy. The ember from the joint and the lingering flame from your zippo lit up the quirked, casual smirk on his lips as he inhaled and exhaled thick smoke.

“Cheers darlin’.” He said, and you felt your heart thump uncomfortably fast against your rib cage as he handed the joint over to you.

You took it, of course, with nervous, almost shaking fingers, wondering why you hadn’t thought to tell him you hadn’t smoked weed in at least a year or two and probably of ill practice. He looked at you expectantly and because you hated the silence, you took a drag from it. And because you were just such a pro at all of this, you immediately choked on the  thick smoke as soon as you inhaled it, though it made him laugh. Not in a mean spirited way, the way you would have laughed if he’d have done it, just trying to keep good natured.

“Shit, sorry mate.” He was already trying to block out his giggles. “If ya told me you were a newbie, I’d have given ya somethin’ a bit weaker.”

“Not a newbie.” You scowled, giving him back the joint and trying to get over the initial head rush from the smoke. “Haven’t done it in a while, that’s all.”

“Aw, that’s alright!” He said brightly, giving you some space now, keeping the harsh smoke from blowing in your direction, even though you hadn’t asked him to. “Maybe I need to cool it a bit as well. Can barely get through a lecture without a few fag breaks.” He smiled a cheeky smile in your direction, and for some reason, it made your body clench up and forced you to curl in on yourself a little harder, just to make the feeling less obvious. “Terrible habit, ennit?”

“Why are ya bein’ so nice to me?” You said suddenly, as he handed the joint back over to you, though your question made him stop for a second as you raised the joint to your lips. “Seriously. I’ve never done anythin’ like this for you. Bet you could have invited anyone else here and had way more fun with them than me.”

He gave you a weird, questioning sort of look for a second before he smiled again, showing off that grossly endearing gap in his teeth and just shrugged his shoulders.

“I dunno.” He said, as if it was simple.

“Ya can’t just not know, ya dolt.” You said, taking another drag from the joint, pleased that you didn’t cough on it like you did before. The buzz in your head from the ecstasy before was numbing a bit more now, and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Even kind of nice.

“You seemed like the type who would keep me good company here, I guess.” He said, picking at fraying strings from the holes in his jeans absentmindedly, looking at you as you smoked. “Don’t have many friends on my course and…well, don’t think the drama lot would have gotten on with this scenery, if ya get me.” Covering his chuckles with the joint when you gave it back to him. “They’re more of a ‘go to the pub open mic night and sing show tunes’ kind of crowd.” Breathing out a cloud of smoke. “I can get on with that sometimes, mind. Love a good musical now and then.”

“Not a rave kind of crowd, I guess.” You asked, and he nodded.

“Nah. Much as I love 'em, we don’t share a lot of common ground.”

“Still.” You muttered, tapping your fingers on your knees, keeping your gaze straight ahead again. “Could have found someone better to come with. Someone who wasn’t a total asshole. Least of all someone who was nice t’ya.”

He was silent for a second, as if he was thinking to himself, and the silence was almost enough to unnerve you and make you worried before he spoke up again.

“C'mere, I wanna try somethin’.”

You looked over at him, as if you were expecting to get an explanation from him that wouldn’t come, though he remained cryptically silent. Just tugged you gently over towards him by the shoulder, brought his face close to yours, closing the gap between the two of you in a weirdly romantic moment that you couldn’t bring yourself to hate. He smiled at the look on your face before he brought the joint up to his lips again, taking a deep inhale from it, making the ember glow bright in front of your eyes, before he held the back of your head, brought his lips barely an inch away from yours, and breathed the thick, white smoke in your face.

You inhaled the smoke because it felt like the right thing to do, and the sudden head rush and the wave of dopamine clouding your brain made your inhibitions loose enough that you thought kissing him was a good idea.

But he didn’t pull back.

And that was enough.

The music inside the club was still dull and droning, the light above you was still cracked and flickering and the cold concrete underneath your huddled bodies was still wet and soaking into your jeans. Your boots were still too tight and you would still think about this and regret it in the morning, but in that second, kissing the boy you had bullied and picked on for months, the same boy who’d dragged you, over anyone else, to an underground punk club at one in the morning, everything was as close to perfect as it could have been.

He pressed his long fingers through your hair, pulling you closer to him as you gripped the front of his shirt, pressing your tongue past his parted lips, deepening it even further, your piercing clacking against his teeth as you pressed yourself against him harder, . He groaned with delight against your lips, moving in closer, your legs tangled together in the midst of your embrace.

He tasted of smoke and cheap vodka, and you were sure you tasted just a bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care and you were sure that he didn’t care that much either.

In hindsight, this was a bit weird.

Kissing a boy that you had convinced yourself that you hated. For no reason, of course, just the idea of him that you had created for yourself put you off of him. But everything about tonight had changed that, maybe for the better, but you didn’t really know yourself.

Being introduced to this side of him had helped your expectations of him lift, of course, because you had just thought of him as a goody two-shoes drama kid. But seeing him take drugs without a problem and not get vaguely deterred by violence in a mosh pit had changed your perspective of him a little bit.

If anything, maybe it would mean you were a bit more intimidated by him now, since you had literally no idea what to expect from him anymore.

Then again, maybe that was a good thing.

People shouldn’t be predictable.

He pulled away slowly and you could see him giggle despite the low light, still holding onto the burning joint. Your head was still swimming from the drugs and you could feel your heart thump faster when you looked at him, but at the time, it just felt like it was because of mish mash cocktail of ecstasy and weed, as well as the pure adrenaline from the night he had shown you.

Couldn’t have possibly been anything else making you feel like that.

Not a chance.

“How d'ya feel then?” He asked, his voice soft but shaky, still stroking through your hair lovingly, and you felt the need to lean up against his gentle touch, and just press your head up against his hand, suddenly relaxed and weirdly safe in his arms.

“Bit floaty, actually.” You mumbled, your voice feeling thick on your tongue, still melting against his gentle touches. Pressing your face against his jacket, as if you were attempting to get some kind of warmth from his scrawny body. “Like my brain is…miles away from my body, or somethin’ like that. Sort of weird actually. Dunno if I like it.”

He left you to it for a little while longer, petting your hairs as you mumbled nonsense to yourself, up at him, hoping he would listen even though he was probably too far gone to really comprehend it, just like you. But his gentle stroking was enough to keep you calm, and make you feel safe.

He pressed his forehead up against yours when you looked up at him again, softly kissing the corner of your mouth and down your chin, trailing kisses that made you smile under the broken wall light, made you want to kiss him more. Your arms went down to loop around his waist to pull him closer towards you, just so he wouldn’t go away. Pressed an affectionate hand against your cheek, bringing his lips close to yours again, far enough that you couldn’t kiss him without moving in though.

“Think I like smokin’ like this.” He whispered with a cheeky smirk, the kind that you liked, before he raised the joint and took a long drag from it again, breathing the smoke against your lips, and you inhaled again. Your hands went down his body even further as your brain became overwhelmed by the drug, hooking your thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and pulling him into a closer, smoky kiss, immediately intense and hard, the way you usually kissed. And from the delighted groan he let out against your lips and the way he clung onto your body, fisting your hair in his long fingers, a grip tight but not hard or pulling, not harsh, despite how harsh you held him, how harsh you kissed, you could tell he liked it, no matter how rough you were on him.

He straddled your hips as you kissed hard, grinding his dick against yours through your jeans, and the barriers between you became more of a nuisance as each second went past.

And while you were high off your tits and nothing was really making sense and you weren’t entirely sure if any of this was really happening at all, you had a little more self respect than to fuck a guy you barely knew behind a grubby club in the middle of the night.

No, no. You had been raised far better than that.

You had to at least find the back of a car or a public bathroom to do it in first. That was the proper way to do it.

You pulled away again, and the face he gave you was so pathetically heart broken it almost made you laugh. But his eyes were glassed over and he was breathing heavy, lips parted beautifully. Made you that much more eager to fuck him.

“Wanna go back to your car?” You asked him, keeping your voice low, just for him, and he nodded frantically, practically jumping up to his feet the moment you even suggested it, helping you up from the sodden floor yourself, the grip on your boots not being nearly good enough to not slip a bit as you did. Made him laugh anyway.

He held your hand tight as you walked to find his car amongst the hoards of people outside the back of the club, still sticking together in crowds of relentless noise while the two of you had other things on your mind than the show you’d just witnessed.

If you were being honest, you barely remembered any of the show, apart from the heavy drums and how loud the vocalist sounded when you were off your tits on ecstasy. You weren’t going to tell Stuart that though, especially the next morning when you met at the smoking area again, like you always did, and he inevitably asked you what you thought of the band.

Then again.

Maybe you wouldn’t have to wait that long.

His car wasn’t much warmer than the outside had been when you finally got to it, something you had complained about enough that he pushed the key into its slot under the wheel and turned the heating up for you.

“That any better?” He asked, and you nodded, but your body still huddled up on the seat, watching as he fiddled with the buttons on the car radio, finalizing on a station that was playing Joy Division. Lots of guitars.

The drugs were still making your head muddy and blurry, and you still felt like you were looking down on everything that was happening to you, like you a voyeur in your own head. He tapped a nervous beat on the steering wheel, looking over at you, as if waiting for you to say something.

“So, what d'ya wanna do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” Hands through his hair again. Must have been a nervous habit. “I can’t really drive yet, I don’t think. Not tried before, mind, but I don’t think drivin’ 'n’ bein’ baked is a good mix.”

He was babbling. Another nervous habit. “Er, I could call ya a taxi, if ya want?” A dejected little smile, as if he was predicting your answer. “I mean, I dunno what ya wanna do now but-”

“You talk a lot for someone who hardly thinks.” You mumbled, as you reached down under the seat and pulled the seat back enough that you could comfortably prop your feet up on the dashboard, heavy army boots crossed, every so casually. Fiddled with the silver cross hanging on your chest, with a coy smirk in his direction. You might have been just as high as he was, but you could carry yourself with at least a small amount of grace. Least you thought so anyway.

“W-Whazzat mean?” He asked, his thick brows furrowed together in a tight knit.

“Well, I was personally thinking that we could keep goin’ from where we left off outside, yeah?” Flashing him a smile as he gaped at you. “Or d'ya have other plans?”

“No!” He was then suddenly incredibly eager again. “No, no, that sounds f-fine. More than fine, actually!”

You didn’t waste anytime waiting for more affirmation from him before you were leaning over the console and handbrake between the two of you and kissing him again, getting quickly past any coy hesitation that you had before and going immediately into rough kissing, tongues and teeth clashing, him biting at your piercings and lips and fists tangled in each others hair.

You practically dragged him over to your seat (not exactly a massive feat of strength mind, boy was about as skinny as a twiglet) and on top of you, jutting your hips up against his, pressing your crotches together and grinding against him as he groaned against your lips.

The car had limited space and you couldn’t exactly move as much as you wanted to, which gave him the excellent upperhand of being able to pin you down against the seat and take whatever he wanted from you without you being able to fight back. But that was probably just you being too anxious for your own good, and assuming the worst out of people.

No.

He wouldn’t have done anything like that. You knew that from the way he waited for your every response before doing anything, the way he only responded harshly when you did too.

He matched your force and enthusiasm with pleasure, grabbed at your shirt and tugged at your hair when you did it too, desperately grinding his hips down against yours. You pulled away from each other for long enough for him to pull your shirt off, but he was back to kissing as soon as it was gone, wrapping his arms around your neck, pressing his body against your bare skin. Dragging red lines down your back, making you groan, made you push your hands up the back of his shirt to do the same, just to make him feel what you felt, but if anything that only excited him more.

Weird little fucker.

“Have ya got a condom then?” You asked, finally pulling away from the hard kiss, breathing heavy, chest heaving, as he kissed your collarbone, bit at your shoulders, hard enough to leave marks, hands trailing down over your chest. He eventually pulled himself away from you and nodded, kneeling up and straddling your hips properly, reaching to his back jean pocket to pull out a small foil packet.

Fiddly fingers tore the wrapper open as you stroked down his hips, fingers tracing over the light freckles that dotted his skin, like stars.

“Done this before?” Glancing up at him through a half lidded gaze.

“Yeah.” He said with a cheeky smile, kneading at your tented dick through your boxers, gripping it gently, his thumb stroking over the already dripping slit. “How about you?”

“Not for a while.” Biting down on your lip as he continued the slow, teasing touches. Little shit already knew how to get you worked up without you even telling him. Must have a bit of experience at the very least. He pulled down your boxers and ran a soft, barely there fingertip over the thick, glistening silver hoop that pierced the head of your dick, stroking the sensitive puckered skin around the metal. You tipped your head back with a short, aroused grunt and a hiss as he pulled the latex down your length, using it as just a further excuse to touch your dick some more. Saucy little minx.

“Any reason for that?” His voice was soft, barely audible over the quiet guitars of Joy Division on the radio.

“Gettin’ a bit deep before a casual fuck, aren’t ya, mate?” You said through a smirk, and he let out a little chuckle through his nose, before he went to yank his shirt off, getting progressively more naked as you went on. “Bit of a messy break up. One of my housemates, if ya can believe it.”

“Always a bad idea.” He said, with a vaguely sympathetic smile, gripping your dick again and slowly working you over until you were fully erect again, though it wasn’t like you’d softened that much anyway.

“The whole thing was a bad idea, honestly.” You continued, stroking up his thighs, over his (lovely, firm) ass, giving it a playful grope. “First love, move to uni together, that same old story.”

“Why’d ya break up?” Scooting further up your body, into proper position, resting his hands against your chest, fingers pressed against the barbells through your nipples, and you gripped your dick to press the head up against his hole, chuckling when he flinched.

“Fell outta love, I guess.” Now was your chance to tease, though he wasn’t pressing back for you yet, and you didn’t mind his lack of eagerness at the moment. Maybe you sort of liked this conversation, being able to tell someone about everything that happened. Just kept stroking his skin, making him let out soft sounds of pleasure.

“No reason. Just stopped seeing each other the way we used to. I dunno.”

“That’s almost sadder.” He mumbled softly, and you slowly pressed yourself inside of him, thrusting your hips into the tight heat. He let out a soft, squeak like gasp, short nails pressed against your skin, making barely there indents but made you hiss anyway.

“Maybe.” You said, one hand slipping down to his hip as the other wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you, pressing your face against his shoulder. Soft kisses down his neck, over his shoulders as you steadied your thrusting inside of him into a natural rhythm, almost timing it to the drum beats of the song, relishing in all of his soft noises, his pants and whines as you fucked him to get rid of all the other memories that filled your head.

No. You didn’t want that anymore.

Even if this wasn’t going to happen again, if this was just a one off kind deed from a quasi stranger, it was doing a wonderful job in replacing all those lovesick thoughts.

The drugs, his kisses, his hole and his pretty dick. His soft noises, the way he held onto you so tight. The way he teased his fingers over your piercings, and the way you looked at him practically daring him to pull at them and find out how much you loved it.

Maybe he could be the person to tear down the walls that you’d built up around yourself over the years, tear down the walls that no-one else could. Maybe you’d actually let yourself be vulnerable to someone, let yourself be taken care of for once in your life.

Or maybe you were being stupid, and taking a casual fuck far too seriously, projecting all of your anxieties onto someone who barely knew you.

Either of the two were likely at this point.

He pressed his hips back hard against yours, riding your dick like it was a profession. He tipped his head back, groaning out, his voice loud over the music on the radio, shuddering against your touch as you pressed yourself deeper inside of him, pushing in and out of him faster, barely giving him any room to breath, any room to prepare himself.

He gripped at the handle above the door, giving him a perfect leverage against your dick, riding you hard as his breathing and words stuttered.

You liked the idea of the two of you getting so hot and breathing so heavy that you’d fog up the glass in his car, drag your hands down, block off most of what people outside could see, but be enough to tempt any pervs who wanted to spy on you.

You buried your face against his neck, digging your nails into his hips as your thrusting quickly lost its rhythm.

The head of his dick was dripping pre-cum, smearing against his stomach, and you growled how pretty it looked, how pretty he looked riding your dick against his neck, biting and sucking lovebites on his skin so he’d remember you.

He naturally whimpered from the pain, the sharp bite, but didn’t ask you to stop, even whined and moaned about how much he loved it, arms around your neck again, whispering how close he was, how hard you made him, how good your dick felt inside him.

Running his filthy tongue over the pierced helix, asked you so innocently if he made you hard, how long you’d thought about this, did you know how obvious your crush on him was? Chuckling to himself when your thrusting slowed down, though he wouldn’t stop teasing.

_“You don’t hide it._

_Or if you do, it’s not very well._

_I don’t mind._

_I wanted you to notice me._

_Why do you think I asked you to come here?”_

You growled and pushed deeper inside him, forcing his body hard against the dashboard, contorting his gangly form into a position that could have in no way been comfortable, fucking him relentlessly. New found vigor had hit you, and you just wanted him to feel just what you felt about him.

But he wrapped his legs around your waist, pulled you closer to him, encouraging your vicious fucking with long, loud moans and whines, practically screaming your name as he wrapped his fingers around his dick, jerking himself off as you fucked him closer to climax.

**“D’ya actually think I see you as anything more than a cheap fuck?**

**You’re so fuckin’ stupid, lucky you’re cute, or your head would be useless.**

**You think I care?**

**I don’t give a shit.**

**You don’t mean anything to me.**

**Just a hole for me to fill.**

**You take it so perfectly, don’t you?”**

Your harsh dirty talk was enough to push him past his climax though, evidenced plainly when his body arched up against yours, his head thrown back and cum spattering against both your chests. Clearly a messy kind of guy. Not like you minded.

You were soon after him as well, soon enough that the feigned intimacy made you uncomfortable. You pulled out of him quickly and fell back against the car seat, chest heaving and breathing heavy. Your fringe was sweaty and your body was already aching, gave you a weird old feeling.

He shifted back into the driver’s seat, reached down for his jacket and got out of his box of joints again, glancing over in your direction.

“Y’alright?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah.” You said, and he nodded in return, opened the little tin box and took out another joint, placing it between his lips.

“Can I borrow ya lighter again?” Smiling enough to indicate your dirty talk hadn’t been taken to heart. You sat up and took your zippo out, handed it over to him. He gave you a curious glance as he opened it, clicked up the flame.

“Finally letting me hold it then, are ya?” He asked, giving the silver lighter back to you.

“Mikey gave it t’me.” You said, running a thumb over the cold metal thoughtfully, looking over at his face, barely lit from the ember of the joint. Joy Division was still playing. “Birthday present. Thought it would be time to move on, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Good choice.” He grinned cheekily in your direction, turned up the radio so loud you didn’t have to think, and kissed you again, letting you inhale the thick, hazy smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to daily updates boyyyyyyy (hopefully.)
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com (u should follow me. for everyday i miss i write a quick drabble. requests always open)  
> ray x


	30. White Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 29: kidnapping  
> second person, from 2D's perspective

Wrists were bound tightly behind your back, your body twisted and forced into an uncomfortable position, knees up pressed against your chest, barely able to move in the tight, dark space. A scummy rag forced against your tongue soaked up all your saliva and made your mouth dry and a layer of thick duct tape, the same that bound your wrists, made your skin itch and blocked out any kind of sound you could have made. Any kind of yells for help or screams or curses to throw at your assailant. Assailants. Whatever. You were blindfolded before you could get a real comprehension of any of it.

You were in a car, you assumed the boot from how tight and small it was. You had been crammed between suitcases and boxes of records that made your body warp and you could feel something sharp dig harshly into the small of your back, but the fact that you didn't know where you were or what was happening was throwing you off and confusing you, making you panic and freak out, so so close to meltdown despite all of your therapy sessions and councillor meetings training you not to whenever anything went wrong. 

You thought that this situation probably would have warranted a panic attack, but you still did your best to keep calm, just because it didn’t seem like the most comfortable place to do it in.

Murdoc pushed things too far, yes, you’d be the first one to admit that, but this was unlike him. He was never usually one to do something unless he knew you wanted it, encouraged enthusiastic consent whenever he could, which was why he stuck to the same things, things he knew you liked. 

Rough sex, deepthroating, choking until you were blue in the face. Tight, uncomfortable bondage, a complete disregard for safe words. Harsh dirty talk that sometimes hit too close to home, feeling you up in public, making his friends watch. Videotaping it, threatening to post it online so everyone could see how much of a slut you were. 

Alright, admittedly this wasn't too out of character for him all things considered, but you would have liked a heads up first, just so you knew that he wasn't going to kill you off or something.

Not like he'd do that.

Maybe.

You were at least eighty percent sure that wasn’t going to happen.

Maybe seventy five.

-

Ten minutes into the bumpy jostling journey, you were getting less and less worried about the situation and more irritated by how long this was taking. Maybe you wouldn't have minded if you were vaguely comfortable, or if there wasn't so much shit crammed in the boot of the car with you, but you apparently weren't allowed that luxury. You couldn't even hear the music that reverberated in the front of the car as a means to distract yourself a bit, you simply had to wait it out, stuck inside your own head with your own morbid thoughts. 

Okay, stop that now. Just think happy thoughts, that's what all the high school therapists said. Though there weren't many you could think about.

It was cold. You didn't know where you were. You didn't know what was going to happen, if Murdoc was doing this just wind you up, to get some kind of reaction from you because he thought it was funny , or if this was a new fantasy that he wanted to play out. You were never really sure with him. Maybe the two things went hand in hand.

He was just like that.

After another five, maybe ten minutes down a bumpy road, the car stopped, jolting you out of your dissociative daze and jabbing the sharp thing poking your back even harder. The boot opened barely a minute after the car had stopped, and a bright torch light shined on your face and made you flinch despite the blindfold blocking most of your sight. Made you pull at your binds even harder.

"Y'alright down there, lad?"

Murdoc's voice made you flinch as well, and you were almost taken aback by how casual he sounded, proving how much of a game he saw all of this. You let out a little sound of irritation through your nose and you could hear him chuckle, ever amused by how easy he could wind you up.

He grabbed at your forearm and yanked you out of the boot of the car, pulling you up to your feet and keeping you upright when your legs shook underneath you.

You tried to pull away from him, just to put up some kind of a struggle and make yourself feel a little less helpless, but he gripped your cheeks together hard, squeezing, his other hand pressing through your hair to keep your body still. 

Wordlessly proving to you that he meant business.

"Ya know, when you struggle that much, it makes it seem like ya don't want it." His voice was low, dangerous. Intimidating without even trying. "Like all my efforts are goin' t'waste. That'd be a shame." His grip on your hair slackened a bit more, down to soft strokes, somehow unsettled you even more. "Worked so hard t'do all of this for you. Don't ya wanna show your gratitude to me?" 

He pressed a chaste kiss against the tape covering your lips and you hated how much you liked it, even though you knew he was doing it just to tease you, to get under your skin, and there was nothing really affectionate about it. 

You had to take what you could get though. 

You rarely got anything even slightly affectionate anymore.

You whimpered softly underneath the gag and he chuckled, dragged his tongue up your cheek, over your ear, making you shudder from something other than the cold.

He grabbed your forearm again, keeping you still as he slammed the heavy boot of the car down, and dragged you through wherever he'd taken you. You stumbled on damp grass and dirt mounds, twigs and plants cracking underneath your bare feet, so you guessed it was a field or a grassy inning. Maybe a forest, you weren't sure. 

Wasn't worth thinking about that much in your mind. 

You had a lot more to think about.

You tripped and stumbled again, on a root or a grass mound, though it was hard enough to knock you off of your feet, making you fall to the floor wrists first, your body aching even harder, and you grunted softly at the shock of it. 

You moved to get back up to your feet but Murdoc planted the sole of his boot against your thigh, keeping you pinned down, shining the torch at your face, your eyes straining under the white light even through the blindfold. 

"Aren't you pretty." He crooned softly, moving his boot over to your stomach, pressing down on you, forcing a tighter clutch on your body. You shuddered underneath him, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat, grimacing from how dry your mouth felt. 

"You're my pretty boy, aren't you, Stuart? So cute and helpless for me." Another dirty chuckle, the sole of the boot trailing down your body to press down on  your dick through your tracksuit bottoms, clearly happy with how hard you were already. Your body was wracked with trembles as you whimpered with shame, but it wasn't like he cared. "Sweet satan, you have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now. Shit, I'm so hard already."

Grinding his heel down against your dick, making you throw your head back from how good it felt, whining loudly against the gag.

"Ya wanna see it, darlin’?" He asked, stopping his constant onslaught on you for just a second, and you nodded frantically. "Yeah, 'course you do. Dirty little slut."

There was a moment of nothingness, before the blindfold was pulled off and you were almost blinded by brightness.

The sky was pitch black, barely speckled with stars and a bright full moon, and the forest awning that Murdoc had taken you to was bathed in shadows and night, but the car's headlights lit up most of the scene, and you immediately squeezed your eyes shut again, pulling hard at the tape around your wrists, wishing you could cover your aching sockets for just a second.

He didn't give you much time to prepare yourself though, since he was quick to straddle your chest, unbuckling his belt to tug his jeans down, exposing his aching dick, the silver piercing at the head already glistening with dripping pre-cum from his slit.

And maybe you were a little embarrassed by how perfect you thought he looked, bathed in the light of the car headlamps, above you, right where he was supposed to be. How much you were starting not to care about how you’d gotten into the situation. How much you wanted him to fuck you right there, not giving a shit if anyone saw because you wanted it that much.

Your mouth would have been watering for him, if it wasn't so fucking dry.

You still keened in closer for it anyway, whining underneath your gag, squirming underneath him (though this was also because the way you were lying on your wrists was aching like fuck and you wanted to find a position that gave some kind of relief to your aching body). He just chuckled, deep and dirty, stroked through your hair affectionately and down your cheek, tipping up your chin so he could look at you properly, so he could see how desperate you were already. 

Though your eyes still hurt from bright headlights. Tears were already welling up.

"Ain't that a lovely sight?" He said softly, a tone that sent dangerous shivers through your body, down your spine. "Wish I'd brought a camera with me or somethin'. So I could see that look forever." He moved further up your chest, gripping his cock tight and slowly working himself over before your eyes, already smearing dripping cum over your covered lips. “So I could wank to your pretty face underneath me whenever I wanted.” 

He slid a sharp finger nail underneath the thick tape and gave the strip a sharp yank, the rag coming out with it, pulling at your skin so harshly that it made you cry out and hiss with pain, body arched up underneath him.

"Tell me how much you want it then." He said through a dark grin, wiping up trailing blood from your cracked lips with his fingertips. "You know how much I wanna hear it, darlin'. Just tell me, all ya need t'do. Beg for it."

You suddenly struggled to find your voice despite that never usually being a problem for you, choking up on words that you couldn't even make, writhing helplessly under him in the middle of a forest awning in the middle of nowhere. Mud and dirt slicked your skin, irritating. 

"Come on, Murdoc, ya know how much I want it. Don't need me t'beg for it anymore." Your voice was scratchy and dry from the amount of time you'd been gagged, and your tongue felt heavy inside your skull, but you still did your best to talk for him the way he wanted. 

You paused.

"Please. I-I'm really hard already, ya can't make me wait much longer, can ya?" Your dick was already aching just looking at him, without any kind of outside motivation (though watching him jerk off above you was fairly encouraging.) "Please, I want you, want you inside me." Shaking, your voice was trembling, and you weren't sure if it was from the cold or the anticipation of what he would do to you. Maybe a combination of the two. 

"You're pretty shit at this, ya know? If I was crueler, I'd gag you again and make ya wait for it even more." He said through a sneer, and you felt your body tense up in reaction to his threat, but he knelt up and moved to drag your joggers down your legs. "But I'm horny as fuck as well, don't think I'd last if I teased ya anymore."

You were about to thank him but you couldn't get it out before he was grabbing at your hips and forcing you onto your front, pressing your face into mud and dirt. Scratched up your thighs as you squirmed underneath him, roughly palming at your ass before he pulled your briefs down to your knees  with your joggers, effectively restricting you even further. 

The mud underneath you was damp and cold from the dew of the night, making your naked body shiver from more than just the adrenaline and fear he was putting you through, made you pull at the tape around your wrists, digging in uncomfortably tight so it would hurt to pull off later.

“Sit tight for a sec, yeah?” He said as he got up to his feet and walked back to the car, passing in front of the headlights and opening the passenger side.

You couldn't have imagined what you must have looked like, naked, covered with dirt and mud, breathing out fog and vapour as you pulled at your binds, struggling against them. Your body ached from the position you were forced into, and you couldn't do much to relieve your aches without exuding more necessary effort. Just let out a shaky sigh, tried to give some relief to your joints and not think about how vulnerable you felt.

You were alerted from your daze with a hard kick to your ribs with heavy steel capped boots, knocked the wind out of you, made you let out a string of forced curses as you curled in tighter on yourself, as a form of comfort and warmth from the now throbbing pain in your side.

“Stay with me now.”

Your breathing was shallow and forced now, excessive fog rapidly raising above your head like the thick cigarette smoke above his. Another kick to your side, harder this time, sure to bruise a rib or two at the very least. Making you whine and whimper even louder through your ragged breathing

Dirt and shredded grass smeared onto your sweat slicked skin. You hated how hard you were for this, how hard you were over the way he was treating you, even though it hurt, even though sometimes you hated it. 

**“Tell me how much you want it.”**

_ “I want it.” _

**“Tell me you love me.”**

_ “I love you.” _

Murdoc knelt behind you again, grabbing at your hips roughly, pulling you back against him so he could rub the head of his dry cock against your hole, slowly, teasing.

He wouldn't do it, you knew that, because it hurt him just as much as it hurt you, but he loved to threaten you about it. He loved to pretend that he didn't give a fuck about your feelings, like he was better than you or something, but you knew that wasn't true. You knew that from the way he waited for you, from the way he always had to get a "yes" from you, a "please" from you, he always had to get an ask for it or a beg for it. 

Always some kind of confirmation, just to make himself feel better about what he did.

He pulled away again for a few seconds, and you heard the sound of the foil ripping.

When he pressed against you again, the lube was cold against your hole, made your body lurch against him, and he held you still despite your nervous squirming.

He pushed deep inside of you quickly without any kind of warning or even any initial preparations, forcing an involuntary moan from deep within you from how tight it felt. Ridiculous, really, since he'd fucked you open enough times to justify that it wouldn't feel as uncomfortable or as weird as it used to, but it wasn't something you were ever really used to, even though it felt so good. 

Maybe you would have liked it more if things were normal. Something you wondered sometimes. Maybe it would feel better if you had sex like you used to, in hushed privacy, dark rooms with soft kisses, softer spoken words, "I love you"'s that were actually genuine and not something used against you anymore. 

But it still felt good, even if you were in the middle of nowhere, you were tied up like a hostage and you were covered in grime. 

It still felt good even though he was whispering harsh words, calling you a slut, a whore. His stupid, pretty boy. Demanding you to tell him how much you liked it, how much you wanted it harder and faster, using your own need for attention and sex against you.

It still felt good even if you weren’t sure if he liked it anymore, even if you weren’t sure if it even felt good for him anymore. Even if you weren’t sure if he even loved you, liked you anymore.

Whatever.

That wasn’t something you liked thinking about.

Especially not in the middle of sex.

"You like it, don't you?" He whispered harshly as he pulled your hair hard, dropping his head to bite and tug at your lobe, pushing deeper inside you. Gripping at your bound hands to force you harder against the ground, forcing your body to arch under him as he tugged at your hair harder. "Dirty little slut. You fuckin' love it. Love gettin' my dick up your cute little arse, don't you, Stu? You take it so perfect." Thrusting deep, in and out inside of you, so fast and hard you could barely think about it, could barely consider what he was even asking you.

It's tight without prep, even though there's protection, and the pain made you cry out, close to screaming. Though you could have, he would have loved it, it would have let out much needed aggravation from you and no-one would have heard you. The inning was deserted, there wasn't any kind of life, so nothing would have happened, but you still felt a need to keep quiet. 

He hated that though. He wanted to force as much noise out of you as he could. He loved it when you moaned and whined and screamed for him. You knew it was because he loved the sound of your voice, he was hardly subtle about how much he liked your noises. 

Somehow that was a kind of rebellion in your own way. Not letting him hear you no matter how much he asked for it, so he'd have to force it out of you.

He became ruthlessly relentless with you quickly, pushing deep inside you, thrusting in and out at a pace without any kind of tempo, so you knew he was close. He scratched down your bare skin, pulled at your hair even harder, and the pain was quickly becoming more painful than pleasurable as your body contorted even more underneath him.

You were shaking and trembling, close to climax yourself, and he pushed your face down against the forest floor, mud coagulating on your skin even more.

He slurred out more dirty talk, more insults through his vocal tics, through grunts and groans, and you can tell he's losing control quicker than you, and maybe you feel a little smug about it, about your own self control, even though you’re losing it yourself.

You came with a scream that was enough to silence him (and for some reason that was enough to make you feel somewhat proud of yourself). When he was done, he finished up inside of you, pulled out before you could think about it and helped you up onto your feet. Wrapped his arms tight around you to warm you up from the cold ground, the cold night from your skin, rubbing the goose bumps away. Your legs shook underneath you but his hold kept you upright, kept you whole and solid.

He stroked through your hair as you kept trembling (from the shock of it or the cold, you weren’t sure), shushing you softly, telling you how well you had done, how good you are, how proud he was of you. Making you feel safe. Or at least safer.

He pulled his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders, pulling it around you, kissed your forehead, asked you if you'd be able to walk for him. You nodded, huddling inside the warm, heavy jacket, and he helped you into the front seat of the car, where he'd kept the heater on for you. Used a sharp switchblade, stowed away somewhere you didn’t see, to cut through the duct tape and rubbed at the harsh indents on your skin until they faded away, his own hands were trembling. 

A takeaway cup of tea from a garage sat in one of the car cupholders between the two of you and you held it in your hands to bring some feeling back to your numb fingers.

The radio was playing a song you didn't know, but it was calming and helped you to ground yourself in that moment, despite how close you were to dissociation. Maybe that was a bad thing but you weren’t all that sure. He nervously tapped the beat of the song against the steering wheel, looking over to you as you pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, tucking your knees up to your chest to conserve any kind of body heat you had.

"Y'alright?" He asked, and you nodded, taking a sip from the styrofoam cup. He'd gotten the taste of it perfectly. He always did.

"Didn't push ya too far, did I?" He asked again, but you shook your head and gave him what you hoped was a reassuring smile over the cup. 

Apparently that wasn't enough to reassure him though, since he moved closer to you, leaning over the console and wrapping arms around you tightly, cold trembling fingers against your skin, pressing his face against your shoulder. He held you so close, you felt like he would never let you go. Even if it was more than you needed, you did feel much warmer, and the fact that the space between you had been closed made you feel that much better. Made up for everything that just happened, you guessed. Convinced you that he still gave a shit about you.

"Guess I worry sometimes." He muttered softly, breaking the uncomfortable silence, face still pressed tightly against your shoulder. "Worry I go too far, an' I might hurt you." Clinging onto you tighter, like he was scared you were going to pull away, even though you just sank against him, desperate to be close to him, his warmth, just his presence being enough to calm you down again. “Worry I’ll push ya too far one day an’...y’won’t come back.”

He pressed his lips against your neck in a soft kiss, letting out a sigh through his nose as he stroked through your hair slowly.

"You wouldn't hurt me." You said, setting your cup down for a second to lean into his touch a bit more, just getting closer to him while he’d let you. "I know that. You jus' gotta know that as well."

He was silent then, but his grip on you didn't loosen at all, so you stayed in that moment, the song on the radio filling the empty silence with soft drums and warbling vocals and guitar, the heat in the car being enough to stop you shaking and make you feel like you were at home, somewhere safe, despite how unsafe you should have felt.

You could pretend for a while, if you had to.

Even if you were just pretending for yourself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what this is. i'll try to get another chapter done today. i have no explanations for this
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	31. To Binge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 30: sadism/masochism   
> second person, from 2D's perspective

He called it Plastic Beach. **  
**

A stowed away, if a bit garishly bright, paradise from first glance, something that maybe would have put you at peace after years of worry and stress resting on your shoulders, something nice. But nothing more than a brightly coloured dump once you had actually set foot onto it.

Literally.

The place was a floating garbage dump.

You couldn’t even stand outside for too long without the smell of rotting garbage giving you a headache. He said that you’d get used to it eventually, but you didn’t like the idea of having to stay there for that long.

It was big, at least, you had that. The sheer amount of rooms and places on the island gave you enough room that you weren’t living on top of each other or getting in each other’s way at all. Which was good, since you wanted space away from him, or as much space as you could get.  Though he didn’t much leave his room or the recording studio much, so you had that too. You’d always have space away from him. Plus the island was barely inhabited, save for you, him and his machines, so you had plenty of time and space for yourself.

Trying to find a whole bright side to this thing was difficult, but you were trying.

Admittedly, you were intimidated when you first got there. The place was massive, and you didn’t know what place was yours, or if he’d even bothered to give you one. The idea of just having to sleep wherever you could find space to didn’t appeal to you much, though you were used to it, and could have probably coped like that for at least a little while.

He didn’t leave you wondering what to do for long though.

As soon as he’d finished with the grand tour of the place (his areas were off limits though, so it was mostly just a tour of the recording studio which you were allowed to use when he wasn’t), he’d taken you down to the deep depths of the island, or where you would be staying while you were there.

Underground, surrounded by water. He knew you hated water.

What a twat.

The walls looked secure and well built though, and you didn’t think he’d have gone to the trouble of getting you onto the island if he was just going to put you in a leaky room that could have burst at any moment, but you still didn’t really want to take a chance on it. Better to be doubtful than to trust willingly, that was something you’d learnt.

It looked nice enough though, reminded you of what your rooms used to look like, when you were younger. No real sense of organization or theming, bit of a mess from an outside perspective, but comfortable and familiar to you, personal bits and bobs lying about (though you weren’t sure why he had some of those) and a few of your keyboards that must have been salvaged from the wreck of Kong Studios. It was nice, and made you feel safe, or at least, safer. You couldn’t really complain about it. Everything was as close to perfect as he could get it.

But of course you were going to complain anyway.

“Fuck, it’s cold down ‘ere.” You mumbled, rubbing trembling hands against the goosebumps that covered your forearms in an attempt to warm yourself up. Walking past knick knacks and closer to the made (clean) bed, staring through the porthole at the fish swimming past your room. Looking at all of it and thinking about what could have passed it next made your stomach turn. Especially when your head momentarily went to the idea of a whale swimming past. Urgh. “Ya had t'give me the coldest room on this bloody island, didn’t you?” Looking away from the porthole didn’t settle your mind much though.

“Ya would have complained wherever I put ya.” He frowned, leaning against the door frame. “May as well do it in a place where I don’t have t'hear it everyday.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that should say something about our situation, shouldn’t it?” You said, your tone a little more snide than you meant, and he just shrugged, crossed his arms, kept himself quiet.

Out of character for him to not argue back, maybe, but you didn’t give his silence that much thought. Focused on all the passing wildlife instead, that was vaguely more interesting that whatever passive aggressive bullshit he was trying to pull. You were going to have to get used to this too, so may as well start trying now.

“If it’s that bad, I’ll get ya a heater or something.” He said, with a casual shrug. Didn’t look you in the eyes though. You wondered why.

“That’s generous for you.” You said, through a sarcastic laugh.  

“Can’t say I don’t do shit for you.” He replied, before he left you to it, shutting the door of your new room and leaving you alone, lost in your own head as you watched another world go by outside your window, barely even thinking about him.

-

He’d been acting weird ever since he’d gotten you onto the island, weirder than he usually acted. Surprising, since he’d gone through such an effort to get you there, you would have thought he’d take advantage of your sudden company as much as he could, or at the very least gotten you into the recording studio so he could make a few records with all of his spare time.

But he didn’t.

He was weirdly silent and would make an effort to be by himself, either in one of his (many) rooms or in the recording studio. This wasn’t exactly unpleasant, it was just unlike him, so unnatural that it made you suspicious. Like you were supposed to be preparing for something, a sick joke that he was going to pull on you at any moment, just to keep you on your toes.

But weeks of lazy beach days passed by, full of sun or storm, and nothing of the type happened.

If anything, you were starting to get a bit lonely.

At least you’d gotten used to the smell of the island, which meant you could walk along the shores and beaches of the island, the one place that didn’t seem to be covered in rubbish, without a gas mask or respirator on like you did for the first few days. That was a bright side that you’d found recently. You held onto it while you could.

The beach was nice, you liked it there. Your feet would sink in hot, pink sand on the warmer days and the waters would wash up and cool you down again. You found yourself spending those lonely days on the beach, when you could, watched the waves lick the shores, wondering if you could maybe see boats on the horizon, though you never could. You’d stay there drawing pictures in wet sand, watching the sun rise and set in the sky, and getting excessively sunburned when you weren’t careful.

When you couldn’t go outside, when the storms were too bad to leave the main buildings of the island, you explored the buildings and tried to make conversation with his machines, his cyborgs, but they never really provided much in terms of stimulation for you (and you were easy to please as well). They didn’t say anything, in fact, just looked at you with wide, empty eyes. Made you feel kinda creeped out, how most people probably felt when you first deputed your own spooky image.

The loneliness eventually gets too much for you to handle though, the days on the beach and locked inside all blurring into one mess inside your head, and you tried to seek out Murdoc.

You weren’t allowed in his parts of the building for whatever reason you didn’t know, and that went without saying, so you mostly loitered around the recording studios. Waiting for the off chance that you would bump into him or walk in on him recording something or writing something new.

Turned out, the latter was what happened. As you had expected.

You walked into studio 2I after a lazy afternoon on the beach to see Murdoc hunched over his bass, lightly strumming and humming to himself. Taking occasional breaks to write something down on a sticky note before he tacked it onto his desk that was already a mess of notebooks and shredded paper. You didn’t say anything for a minute, hoping you’d catch him working on something new before anyone else had the chance, but none of it really came together into a song, so you cleared your throat to alert him.

“Sounds nice.” You said, leaning against the door frame,trying to act coy. “Dunno what it is, but it sounds good so far. Can help ya, if y’want me to.”

“What do you want?” He asked gruffly, turning back to his bass, idly plucking at strings and fiddling with the knobs to change key. You shrugged, shoved your hands into your pockets, looked down at the floor.

“I’m bored.” You said, walking into the studio space properly. “There’s nothin’ t'do here when you won’t talk to me, and all your robots just look at me like I’m a weirdo.” Huff. “Ain’t there anyone else here?”

“Just you an’ me, Dents.” He said with a rough sniff, writing something new down and tacking it to the desk again.

“Can I have my phone back, at least?” You offered, moving closer to him, almost standing in front of him. “I mean, I doubt I’m gonna get any phone signal here anyway, can’t ring anyone.” Fiddling with your fingers, stupid nerves. “Come on, mate, I’m dyin’ down there.”

“If you don’t have any signal.” Another note, another strum at the guitar, another fixed pitch. “Then why would you need your phone?” Finally looking up at you through a bored look, as if he didn’t want to listen to you.

“I dunno…” Pause to think. “We have Wifi, don’t we? I mean, I wouldn’t do nothin’, just wanna make sure the world hasn’t ended while we’ve been here.”

“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of phone signal anyway?” He said with a rough chuckle. “How would I know what you’re up to, eh?”

“Murdoc, come on. No-one’s gonna come lookin’ for me, I know that.” You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest in an effort to block yourself off from him, close him away and give yourself some kind of comfort. “Just wanna feel like a person again.”

He stayed silent for a minute or two, looking from you to his bass, before he stood up, set El Diablo in his seat, and pushed past you. Walked to another studio with you following behind him closely, like a puppy on a leash.

He fumbled in the drawers of another mixing desk for a second, before he brought out your phone and gave it to you. It was dead when you clicked on one of the buttons, but you had a charger downstairs somewhere, you knew that. Just holding it gave you a hopeful kind of feeling that you hadn’t felt in a while.

“You should really think about upgradin’ your phone, mate.” He said, shutting the drawer again and looking down at your phone, a solid Nokia you must have had for about two years. “Almost 2010, eh? Probably time to get up to speed with the rest of the world.”

He left you again, before you had the chance to say anything back to him and when he pushed past you, the irony of his statement left you somewhat frozen in place. Just holding onto your little phone, like it was the only thing left to ground you, to keep you all together in that world he’d spoken about.

Though you felt so far away from it all, you almost couldn’t bare it.

-

Things started to get a little easier.

Having your phone was a bonus, you had to admit, though you couldn’t access any social networks or phone lines or anything like that, no chance of being able to connect with anyone outside of here. Murdoc had made sure of that.

But that was okay.You were coping better than you thought you would.

You read a lot more news articles now, just to keep up with the rest of the world and catch up on things that you hadn’t paid attention to before. Listened to a lot of new music (most of which you didn’t like, but no comment) and read band newsletters and websites just for the hell of it. You’d even managed to stream a few dodgy episodes of television on your tiny mobile, though you were probably doing damage to your eyes by squinting at it so much.

But you didn’t mind. It just felt nice to feel like a person again, to feel less cut off from everyone and actually engage with the world again. It gave you something to do on the stormy days, and something to pay attention to during lazy, sunny days on the beach.

Murdoc was still as elusive as ever, mind, but he made a few more appearances outside his rooms and the studio, choosing to do something with his time other than skulk and tinker with cyborgs. Kept you company (his words) on the sandy beach a few times, though he spent most of the time smoking and drinking far too much cheap rum for your liking. Ranting to himself about something or another while you ignored him and looked over the gleaming, blue oceans that always brought rubbish onto your beach and just added to the heap of Plastic Beach that lay underneath the sand.

But that was okay. You had distractions now.

You almost felt bad about how much better your experiences had gotten here just from being able to use your phone again, like you were playing out a stereotype or something, but you wouldn’t let yourself feel bad about it. It was only natural to want some connection with everyone else, especially when you were as lonely as you were.

Whatever. Those things didn’t matter anymore.

Nothing did.

But you were hardly ever allowed to enjoy anything for too long, without something bad happening.

It happened on a Wednesday afternoon when you’re sitting in studio 2I together. He was fiddling around with his bass, trying to make a pitch sound better and warming up to a new set of strings and you were alternating between tapping away at your phone to look at a music news website that was reporting on a band that you liked and how bad their new single was, apparently, and writing out potential lyrics on lovesick feelings and revolving doors. You were both quiet, comfortable in each other’s silence.

Things were peaceful and normal, or at least as normal as they were going to get when you were on an island made of rubbish, it’s only inhabitants were your kidnapper and the broken down robots he made in an attempt to replace the only thing he cared about. So normal, in fact, that sitting with him during a storm became common, you even went through the trouble to seek it out, just so you wouldn’t have to sit in your room, alone, waiting for it to be okay to go outside again.

So that was nice, for the time being. It filled a purpose.

Then your phone started vibrating.

Murdoc immediately looked up at you just hearing the sound of it buzzing against the desk, his brows furrowed, his gaze filled with confusion, anger and maybe just a bit of betrayal that you didn’t like to pay attention to.

“What was that?” He asked, almost casually, though you could tell he focused he suddenly was just looking between you and the phone.

“Er…m-might have been my phone. Maybe.” You mumbled, and you’re already moving closer to the desk subconsciously. “Dunno.”

“Mm, right.” He said, and he didn’t have the chance to say anything else before he was moving quickly over to your spot just so he could have it first.

You moved quicker though, and grabbed for your phone before he could and jumped to your feet, clicked onto your messages, wondering who could have possibly messaged you and how it could have gotten to you despite the utter lack of signal you were getting on the island, trying to ignore whatever Murdoc was shouting at you.

That’s when your heart dropped, and your phone almost slipped through your fingers.

_**(10 unread messages from Tom <3)** _

  * _**hows your holiday going? can’t wait to see you when you get home! :)  
**_
  * _**want me to pick you up at the airport?? your mums been texting me saying your ignoring her naughty boy ;)  
**_
  * _**stu are you there??? arent you coming home today?? :((  
**_
  * _**stuart no-ones heard from you in ages whats going on babe?? you can talk to me i promise <3  
**_
  * _**please answer me stuart your parents are getting worried about you  
**_
  * _**theyve put in a missing persons report. police are looking everywhere (One attached file. Download? [YES] [NO])  
**_
  * _**i went to your flat today with the spare key police wanted to see how long you’ve been gone. it’s been three weeks. we miss you so much. i miss you  
**_
  * _**i shouldnt havbe let you go alone. i knew you were going to do something. I thought all the meets with dr waters were goin okay but you never told me.  
**_
  * _**im so sorry stu i miss you so fcking much  
**_
  * _**theyve stopped looking for you  
**_



_**(1 new message from Tom <3)** _

  * _**i cant stop thinking about you about everything we did together how i should have done more. i love you. i still love you. come home bluebell </3**_



And that’s when it hit you. You had a life before this.

You remembered that now.

You had friends and family and a flat that you paid rent for on time every month and decorated badly but still made it home. You had a job that you liked because you liked chatting to people over the phone to occupy their time, though you didn’t use your degree for it at all. You had people who cared about you, and you’d forgotten about that as soon as you’d stepped foot onto this island, when you suddenly focused only on trying to keep yourself sane and alive.

But seeing all those messages, along with messages from your parents, from your boss and coworkers, from your landlord, you remembered all of it and you remembered what you actually were here.

You were a prisoner.

“What the fuck is this?” Murdoc growled harshly, suddenly squaring up to you and alerting you out of your daze. “Where did you get signal from, eh? Who’s messaging you?” He gripped the front of your shirt and pushed you hard against the padded sound proofing on the studio walls. “Answer me, 2D!”

“I-I dunno, Murdoc!” You squeaked, keeping a grip on your phone despite how much he pushed. “How am I supposed t'know that? I don’t know how this place works!”

“You’ve done something.” He hissed, gripping your shirt harder, bringing his face close to yours, so close that you could smell the cheap rum and tobacco on his breath. “I know you have. You’ve found something on the beach, shit like that. Tell me what you’ve done.”

“Not done nothing.” You said through a frown. “I don’t know what’s happened, Murdoc, I can’t tell ya.”

He didn’t say anything then, but he didn’t let you go for a while, just looking at you, trying to see if you were lying or if you were being dishonest with him at all. But he let you go eventually and left the studio muttering to himself, because he knew that you didn’t lie to him, and you’ve never lied to him before.

You knew he was going to drink to access tonight, and maybe you felt bad about that, but not as bad as you felt when you typed up a message on your phone, rethought it and deleted it.

Tom didn’t deserve that. He could hold onto good thoughts of you and not fill his head with thoughts of you being stuck on an island with the man he only knew bad things about.

You could be better for him.

-

You spent the rest of the day in your room, looking out to the peaceful ocean that didn’t seem to change no matter if the sun was beating down or if the sky was full of rainclouds and storm. You didn’t want to look at your phone but you just kept thinking about those messages from Tom. How despite everything that had happened between the two of you, he still had those feelings deep down inside of him.

It almost made you laugh, thinking about how young he was and how much he looked up to you. It almost made you cry when you saw so much of yourself in him, and how it felt to be on the other side of idolisation that had only ever hurt you.

God, you fucking hated this island.

You hated how much it was making you think about these things, because that’s all you could do. You only had time to think and reflect and regret every single mistake you’d ever made in your life.

Breaking up with Tom.

Saying yes even when it hurt you.

Loving even when it hurt you.

Being in the wrong place at the wrong time and being hurtled into this mess of a relationship.

Losing her, not looking out for her when you said you always would, not being the big brother figure that she always saw you as.

You wanted to close your eyes and make all of this go away, but it never did. You could do whatever you wanted, sleep for days and daydream for hours but you were here, on this piece of shit beach, with your piece of shit bassist and his piece of shit robot that looked like the one person you’d let down, and they were never going away.

You were stuck.

You were a prisoner.

You’re not left alone with your thoughts for long though, before Murdoc was pounding his fist on your bedroom door, alerting you from your daze and hurling drunken words of abuse at you through the thick metal.

“Let me in, tosser, I wanna talk t’you.” He slurred through drunken little hiccups, making you grimace. You laid back on your bed, squeezed your eyes shut in an effort to block out his ramblings, his abuse, his vulgarity, though it never worked. He always saw right through you, even when he was drunk, so he just kept shouting. “Stuart, come on, mate! Just wanna chat! Nothin’ bad!”

“Fuck off, Murdoc, go to your own room!” You shouted with a groan, pulling a heavy pillow over your face just to block him out even more (and not because you were suicidal or anything, though to be fair, being smothered didn’t sound that bad right now.)

“Babe, come on!” He said, drawling out his last syllable so he sounded even more desperate. “I’ll let ya have some of my Captain Morgan’s, know ya like that! Just let me talk!” You doubted that he only wanted to talk even more than you doubted he’d actually give you anything to drink despite how much you were gagging to get good and drunk, but eventually you stood up, threw the pillow back on your bed and went to your door to unlock it.

When it’s open, Murdoc practically falls into your room, having been leaning on the door before, and he doesn’t try to adjust himself or make his clumsy steps anymore graceful. He just keeps grip on his half empty bottle of rum and makes himself comfortable on your bed, throwing himself open, legs spread, as elegant as ever.

You shut the door again, just so there wasn’t a chance of anything following him inside.

“What do you want?” You murmured, staying standing and just looking down on him. He just shrugged and went to unscrew the cap of his bottle.

“Just wanna chat.” He said, taking a swig with a grimace. “Ya know, heart t’heart. Been so long since we’ve had one of those, ain’t it, Stuart? Really need t’get back to bondin’, don’t we?”

“You’re plastered, Murdoc.”

“And?” He mumbled, throwing you an accusatory glare.

“I’m not tryin’ t’have a conversation with you when you’re drunk, alright?” You almost cringe at how old you sound, how much it sounds like you’re scolding him, but you really don’t have any other option at this point. Not like he was listening to you anyway. “God, why do I even bother with you? You never change, you were just like this before.”

“I do change.” He said, sounding almost offended, screwing the top back onto his bottle. “Ya know, over our hiatus, got myself checked out, right!” He gestured wildly at himself then, waiting for you to react with anything more than an uninterested look. “Running at peak performance level, even got my eyesight sorted out. Can see loads of colours now.”

“No wonder this place looks so ridiculous.” You murmured, but he ignored you, leaning back on the metal wall and relishing in his self made drunken daze.

His attention is alerted again, however, when your phone started vibrating on your bedside table, except this time he’s closer to it than you are. Sure, he was drunk and you expected that to slow him down a bit, but he still grabbed it before you even had the chance to register it first. Weirdly nimble for a drunkard in his late forties.

But before he’s even clicked the home button, you were on top of him, pinning him down to the bed and grabbing for your phone, taking each hard knee to your chest and rough elbow in your face as he tried to get it further away from you.

“Give it to me, Murdoc!” You hissed as he kicked up at you between your legs, your thighs clenched together tight enough that he doesn’t hit anything important. He lets go of his rum bottle, which rolls off of the bed, to grab at your hair, trying to wrench you away from him. “It’s not your’s!”

“Yeah, well, you’re mine so that counts enough!” He shouted, and you clawed bitten nails down his chest, narrowly avoiding a swift punch to your nose that catches you roughly in the cheek instead.

“Ya can’t talk about me like that anymore!” You shout back, just as loud, catching his wrist and wrenching it down to your level, though he keeps a firm grip on your phone.

“I can say whatever I want.” He said, firmly, and he’s looking at you now, not trying to fight you off anymore. “You’re here with me instead of whoever is textin’ ya, aren’t you? Doubt you’ve even texted them back, cus you don’t wanna think about anyone else but me.”

You’re silent then, still, on top of him, and that’s answer enough. He smirked and wrenched himself away from you, stood to his feet and left you on the bed. When he clicks through to the messages, you looked away from him, not wanting to see his reaction.

You’re taken aback slightly when he just laughed though, but he was just like that. Not an ounce of sensitivity in him.

“Oh fuck, Stuart, this lad thinks you’re dead!” He tittered away, obviously still scrolling through your messages. “Holy shit, that’s hilarious!”

“Stop it.” You said harshly, looking up at him.

“Oh sweet Satan, mate, this is rich.” Smiling cruelly. “Fuckin’ hell, have ya seen all of these? It’s pathetic, honestly.”

“You don’t know him.” You said, moving closer.

“And I wouldn’t want to! Fuck, if someone chased after me like this, I’d dump 'em in a heartbeat.”

“Well, at least someone gives a shit about me, Murdoc. At least someone is still lookin’ for me, hasn’t given up hope on me yet.”

He’s glaring at you over the phone now. “What’s that supposed to me, ya little shit?”

“It means, no-one gives a shit about ya, least of all me!”

You regret saying it, as soon as you’ve said it, but he doesn’t give you much time to think on it.

“You don’t mean that.” He said, and you don’t say anything because it’s true, you didn’t mean that. But you’re not going to admit that to him, of course.

He let out a little huff and put the phone back down, sat back down on your bed, and the atmosphere is a little more uneasy now. You grab for your phone again, but you don’t take the time to look at the message before you’re shoving it in your back pocket again, where he can forget about it and you can keep it safe.

Murdoc was silent for a long time, so long that you figured that he was ignoring you because of the little comment and trying to let the atmosphere rest a little easier, before he spoke up again.

“What was his name then?” He said, as he’s trying to find his rum bottle again. Might have rolled underneath the bed.

“Ya what?”

The lad who keeps textin’ ya.” Looking over at you with a frown, coincidentally as soon as your phone started vibrating again in your back pocket again. “One who thinks ya dead. What’s his name?”

You paused, reaching back to your phone to cut off the vibrations.

“Tom.” You said, keeping your gaze on him. “His name’s Tom.”

“Right.” He sat back up on the bed with his bottle, silent, moving back to look out at dark barren sea. Not as many fish there anymore. Must be something to do with the sun setting or the storm disturbing the schools. Something like that. He takes a long swig before he’s looking at you again. “Did you…?”

“Yeah.” You said, cutting him off. You didn’t want to answer the question if he’d said it completely, and you knew what he was going to say anyway. You didn’t want to admit to it.

He nodded, gripped at his jeans tighter, took another swig. “He your boyfriend then?” He asked, and you couldn’t help but notice how small his voice suddenly sounded. It made your heart ache in a weird way.

“He was.” You said, almost feeling bad about it. Gripped your hands together behind your back just to give your hands something to do. “We, er…we broke up a few months ago though. Still friends but, er…not like that, anymore at least.”

“Why?” He said, still looking over the ocean.

You let out a shaky little breath, brought your hands together in front of you again.

“He wasn’t you.” You admitted, and he looked up at you then, a raised eyebrow. You smiled a little, in spite of yourself. Crossing your arms over your chest in an effort to guard yourself, make sure he didn’t see you stumble or break. “I think I went into it thinking he’d be like you, but he never was. Never felt right.” You laughed a little. “Freaked me out a bit, actually, if anything.”

“How long did you-?”

“'Bout a year.” You said, interrupting him, because you always knew what he was about to say. “Mum liked him though. Called him my ‘bit of alright.’ She probably has a crush on him or something.” Another nervous little laugh. You didn’t like it but it made the air easier to handle, made it feel less real. “I…I really wanted it to work, he made everything feel okay for a bit. But yeah, it never felt right.” You sat down on the bed then, trying to close the gap between you a little more, make the atmosphere a little bit less awkward, though it was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. You smiled sadly. “Don’t think it ever does when someone actually treats me right.” Looking back at him. “That’s why I liked you so much.”

He was silent for a second, before he took another, longer swig from his bottle.

“Fuck…” He rasped, after swallowing the long gulp of rum. “You really are fucked up, aren’t ya?”

Made you laugh. “Yeah.” You wanted to laugh so much that you cried, just to get something out of you, something human, and maybe make him feel something human as well. “Yeah, I really am.”

And you kept laughing, so much it was almost manic, because you couldn’t cry, no matter how much you wanted to. You’d been taught that crying was bad, crying was weak. Crying wasn’t something that boys, let alone men did. You hated that this piece of shit society and your piece of shit parents had forced that onto you, because all you wanted to do was cry.

Cry about love, cry about loss. Cry about Tom, cry about Murdoc, cry about Noodle and Russel and wherever they might have been and cry about all the people who had forgotten about you so quickly.

“It’s funny.” You said, through your little giggles. “It was almost like lookin’ at a mirror, sometimes. Like I was seein’ everythin’ that I used to be. Every single thing I used to do and say to you and about you, he did the same to me.” Every part of you was shaking, wavering, like you were about to fall apart. “Ain’t that funny?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Fuckin’ hilarious, mate.”

“God.” You said, finally standing up and raking your fingers through your hair. Your forehead was sweaty. “This was never going to work out, was it?” Another laugh. You hoped you didn’t start again. “Why did I think it was going to work again?”

He looked up at you, clearly confused as to whatever you were rambling on about. “What are ya on about now?” He asked.

“What did you think was going to happen, Murdoc? Did you think everything was going to go back to normal or something? Like, you fuckin’ pick me up from Prague and I just forget about everything that happened between us?” You’re shouting now, and you didn’t know when you went from hysterical to angry, but it fits. “It hasn’t been normal in ten fucking years!”

“Ten ye-” He stood up, shaking his head. “Ten years? What does that mean, ten years? Was your life fucked up from the start, eh?”

“YOU fucked me up, Murdoc. Not me, you.” Still shouting, despite how close you suddenly were to him. “All that shit you used to do, everything that happened at Kong? I had nightmares about it! Had a therapist and everything!”

“Oh yeah, and what did she tell you, 'Dents?” He’s shouting now, just as angry as you. “Tell ya to pop a few pills, call her back in the morning, like your mum did?” Scowling, dark eyes. “Yeah, that worked out so well for you before.”

“Don’t bring her into this, Murdoc.”

“No, you know what, I fucking will.” Putting down the bottle, taking steps closer towards you. “You’ve been fucked up from the start, mate. Your shit mum had you on painkillers before your voice even cracked and you acted like that was normal, like that shit didn’t mess with your head and make you mental.” Closer.

“Murdoc, sto-”

“And you get on my case!” He shouted, throwing his arms up in mock outrage. “You say my childhood was shit! Well, I’ll fuckin’ tell ya what, least my dad didn’t make me an addict before I was even in high school.”

“I was in pain.” You said, your teeth grit and your hands balled into fists at your side. “I had chronic pain, you know that.” Glaring.

“Excuses, ex-fucking-cuses. The only reason you hate me so much is cus I let you actually think without those fucking pills being in the way. You hate me 'cus I let you actually be a person, and you just can’t fucking do that, can you?”

“God, shut up.” You growled, under your breath, covering your hands with your ears. “I can’t stand it when you’re like this.”

“No, fucking listen.” He said, wrenching your hands away from your head and forcing you to look at him. “You say all this shit, but you wouldn’t be anything without me.” Bringing his face closer. “You’d be in Crawley, with a wife you hate, a kid you can’t stand and medicating your stupid little head until you couldn’t think anymore.” Tapping on your forehead harshly. “Either that or you’d become so fucking reliant on those pills of your’s that you’re an addict. Cocaine, or heroin or something. Top yourself while you’re on a high and make all the girls you fiddled with at high school cry just thinkin’ about you.”

You don’t say anything.

“So don’t try and demonize me, Stuart Pot. Because like it or not, I’m the only reason you matter. I’m the only reason people know about you, or give a shit about you.”

“That’s not true.” You mumbled, shaking your head. “Tom, he-”

“You think he cared about you? Or did he just want all those royalties of your’s, hm?” His voice was so sweet now that you wanted to vomit, right down his front, just to get him away from you. “You’re not worth shit without me, Stu.”

“Shut up.”

“Did he fuck you like I did?” He asked, still keeping his hands on your face, his practically inches away from yours. You hate this closeness.

“Stop it.” You muttered, quiet at first.

“Did you think about me when he did it?” His sharp grin made you sick.

“Stop it, I don’t wanna talk about that.” A little louder.

“Did he know about all that sick twisted shit you like? Or is that for me only, hm?” A hand on your cheek now, stroking.

“Murdoc.” He hadn’t touched you in so long. It almost felt alien feeling it again all of a sudden.

“Did he make you scream like I did?” His other hand travelled down your side, to your hip to stroke over your thigh, pressing himself against your body, breathing over the shell of your ear. “Doubt it though. You only ever did that for me, didn’t you?”

“Stop.” You murmured, though you’re starting to not believe anything you say yourself, pressing your hands against his chest, as if you were trying to push him away.

“Bet you couldn’t even get off without thinking about me.” He said with a harsh snicker.

“Shut up!” You shouted finally, pushing him away. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, I don’t want t'hear you anymore!” Covering your ears with your hands again.

“Fuckin’ hell, Stuart, stop acting like such a child.” He said with a grimace, folding his arms.

“I’m not a…fuck off, stop bringing him into this.” Glaring at him again.

“Wouldn’t have to if you didn’t replace me so quickly, would I?”

“Oh my god, is that it?” You said, with an almost bewildered laugh. “Is this entire thing just because you’re fucking jealous?” You noticed that your voice was getting louder as you kept talking. “Fucking hell, Murdoc, who’s the child now?”

“I’m not jealous!” He insisted, hands thrust to his side. “What have I got to be jealous of, huh? I just pity whatever arsehole had to be lumped with you for more than five minutes.”

“Yeah? You sure about that?” You said with a harsh glare.

“I’m certain.” He said, copying your glare.

Then you were both silent again, glaring at each other, waiting for the other to speak again just so the argument could start again, just so you had a reason to yell at each other, just to let anything out. But when neither of you said anything, all you were left to do was stagnate with these repressed emotions until they eventually went away or you forgot about them.

You said nothing and sat back down on the bed, went to get your phone again and looked through your messages again, keeping them to yourself where there was no chance of Murdoc seeing them. He just continued to glare and went to get his rum again, unscrewed the cap and took a long swig, as if it would have done anything to make him feel better.

You didn’t pay his alcoholism much mind though, you hadn’t before and you weren’t going to now. Let him drink himself to death, you didn’t care anymore.

“What’re ya doin’ now then?” He asked, bitterly, and you didn’t think to respond because you knew he was just trying to bait you for another argument. “Ah, I see, I see. Ignoring me now, are ya? Right, very mature.”

“You just wanna fight.” You mumbled, not taking your eyes off your phone. “You’re drunk and you’re pissed off and ya want me t'give you a reason to yell and shout and throw shit at me.” A quick glance up at him, just to prove how much you didn’t care, how bored you were. “So I’m not gonna give you a reason. Then you’ll fuck off, drink until ya don’t remember any of this, wank off and pass out.” Back down to your phone. “Then we’ll forget any of this happened. And we’ll go back to normal.”

“Thought none of this was normal, eh, Dents?” He slurred, leaning against your door. “Thought it hadn’t been normal in ten years, eh?”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to grace him with a response.

“Alright, here’s a question you might answer for me then.” The way he looked at you was suddenly smug and satisfied. “Did ya love him?”

“What?”

“Tom. Your boytoy student you were fuckin’ tryin’ to forget about me.” Another long swig. The bottle was almost empty. “Did you love him, Stuart?” Enunciating every syllable, talking to you like he used to, like he was talking to a child or a dog. You always hated that tone.

“You frowned and put your phone down, sat back up on your bed. "If I tried to explain what I felt towards him, you wouldn’t know anything about it, Murdoc.”

“What’s that mean?” He asked with a rough glare.

“It means you don’t know what loving someone feels like.” You said bitterly. “Because I know for fuckin’ certain you didn’t love me.”

He threw the bottle at you.

It missed, thankfully, but it still shattered above your head, the miniscule amount of rum splashing on your skin and thousands of shards of glass raining down on your like sharp snowflakes. You ducked down to the floor quickly, hands over your head, before your head snapped up and you looked up at him, glaring.

“What the fuck was that?!” You shouted.

“How dare you.” He spat, pure poison on his tongue. “How fucking dare you say that to me.” Moving closer to you, glass crunching beneath his boots. “You clearly don’t know who I am, because that’s the biggest fucking lie you’ve ever said in your life.”

“It’s not a lie.” You said with a harsh sniff, standing to your feet again. “You don’t treat people you love like that, Murdoc, you don’t treat 'em like this. You didn’t love me, just admit it.”

He hit you.

A sharp slap across the cheek, nothing you weren’t used to, but it still stung just as much for some reason.

You hit him back.

And then he hit again.

And suddenly you were on each other, him pushing you to the floor, among the shards of glass that dug in and cut when he pushed you down. His fist caught your cheek hard, your’s caught his stomach just as hard, winded him enough that you could tackle him to the ground yourself, straddling his hips and punching him just as hard as he punched you.

And it felt good. Maybe you understood why he did it so much suddenly.

That momentary euphoria doesn’t last long before his knee goes up to your gorian and catches your more sensitive bits, throwing you off guard enough that he can push you against the wall, pinning you down with his hands in your hair, pulling, scratching your scalp as he claws down your exposed forearms, leaving harsh, bloody lines on your skin. You’re screaming and shouting, trying anything that might throw him off, trying to push against him. Fist clenched, you hit out and knock anything you can, anything that might bruise or hurt enough to throw him off, just for a second, so you could turn the tables again.

As soon as he stopped, you threw him off and you’re on your feet, moving to the other side of the room and trying to find anything that you could use to protect yourself, defend yourself.

He’s on his feet too, clutching at his side where you must have punched too hard. His lip is bleeding and you can already see bruises blooming around his eye, on his cheeks, down his arms. You tasted blood (maybe feeling a loose tooth or two) and the cuts down your skin are throbbing painfully. Bruises always bloomed quickly for you, so you look like you have more battle damage than he does

An hard, porcelain ashtray was frantically grabbed and thrown in your direction, though it’s misjudged and instead bounced against the metal wall, leaving a sizeable dent and leaving the tray in three chunks on the floor.

“Sorry that I don’t make it clear t’you, mate, but you’re fucking wrong.” He growled, spitting out a wad of blood. “Of-fucking course, I loved you. I still fucking love you!” His voice raised to a shout suddenly as he kept looking for something else to throw at your.  “Even if you left me, all by my-fucking-self, and shagged someone else while you had a fucking life without me, like you always do!”

A glass shot glass, a half empty pack of cigarettes, a keyboard repair book were all thrown at you and the book made a hard collision with your shoulder, hard enough that it would bruise, much like the rest of your injuries. You were starting not to think twice about it.

“I had to leave.” You said firmly, pressing your palm against the already throbbing injury. “You couldn’t expect me to stay, could you? Noodle was gone, Murdoc. Everyone was fucking gone!” Funny how this was the thing to push you close to tears, all of a sudden. “We were in danger!” Sniffing hard, just trying not to cry. “We could have died, Murdoc, don’t you get that?”

“You could have stayed for me.” He said roughly, gripping a wrench, ready to throw it. “Could have been just us for a bit, like it used to be. You remember that, Stuart? Remember the flat in Essex we had? Could’a been like that again, but no.” Shaking his head. “No, you had to run away, and leave me to suffer alone.” His hands were shaking too. “Fucking hell, Stuart, you say all this shit about Noodle and Russel like I don’t know!” His nose was bleeding, but you were sure the pinpricks of tears that you could see weren’t from the pain. “I looked for her. I really did. I searched for her for what felt like years, mate. And I never found her.” His body started to shake and stumble, and he’s suddenly not even trying to hide the tears. “I-I never fuckin’ found her, Dents.”

He dropped the wrench and his whole body seemed to drop with it, as his legs gave out from underneath him and he fell, his body wracked with sobs that he tried to stop but couldn’t stop from coming. You knew what he was like when he cried, the rare occasions that he actually did in front of you. And he couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop any part of it until it was all out of him.

What he needed right now was comfort, and you cared more about that then this argument or how much your bruises hurt or how much glass was lodged in your skin.

You crouched down beside him, wrapped your arms around him and leaned into him, letting him press his face into your shoulder and just cry. Cry as much as you wanted to.

He dug his nails into the fabric of your shirt, clinging onto you like he would never let go as he sobbed, and you pressed your face against his hair, eyes squeezed shut, just trying to do something, anything, that would make him feel better.

“Shhhh.” You said, softly, tracing lines and circles down his back. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

“I let her down, 2D.” He said, and you almost couldn’t handle how small he sounded, how defeated he sounded. How he had never sounded like that before. “I fuckin’ let her down, and I promised I never would. I-I couldn’t…I couldn’t help her.”

You pulled away from the tight embrace for just a second, to look at him, see a man you had never seen before, walls torn down, as vulnerable for you as you had been for him once upon a time. A worse man would have taken advantage of this.

But you weren’t a worse man. And you never would be.

“You tried so hard.” You said softly, stroking down his cheek, wiping away tears. “You did everything you could have possibly done. She’d know that, and she’d love you for it. We all tried for her. She’s out there alive, somewhere, Murdoc,and she knows that. Believe me.”

His lip quivered, just slightly, and he pulled you close again, more tears spilling as he hung onto you, and you just kept trying to provide something comforting for him, because that’s what you did.

“I love you.” He said, through his tears, against your now sodden shirt. “I don’t deserve you, but I love you so fucking much. Please, just tell me you know that.”

“I know.” You murmured softly, and that’s enough. You just kept stroking, through his hair, down his back as he kept sobbing.

The fact that you couldn’t say it back is what pushes you over the edge, and now you’re in tears as well, and you stay like that for a while, in each other’s arms, crying like you never had before, crying like men at fucking war with themselves, just trying to comfort each other despite how much both your hearts ached.

Thinking about love, thinking about loss. Thinking about her and him and him and her. Thinking about each other, and how you didn’t even need to say that it would never work again for you both to understand it.

When he finally let go, he kissed you, hard and desperate, and you let him, because that’s what you did. And it was okay. It was okay to just pretend everything was normal again, for a while, like you weren’t sitting among mess and broken glass, like your tears weren’t streaked with tears, and like he wasn’t still shaking and sobbing despite the kiss, despite the close contact, despite everything.

Whe he pulled away, he lay in your arms for a while, crying silently, and you stroked his hair, shushed him when he needed it, but didn’t provide anymore commentary on it because he didn’t ask for it.

He needed this. God knows he had enough to cry about, and that just from knowing what he told you.

You didn’t want to think about everything he had gone through and how much he had put into your band of friends that all left him in the end anyway (though you were the only one who had a choice in the matter.) All you could do was promise yourself that that wouldn’t happen again. No matter how much Tom kept texting you, no matter how much you still thought about your past, no matter how much medication you still had to take just to forget everything that ever happened to you.

You owed him that much.

Funny really. You’d spent so much time telling other people how bad he was, how much he’d put you through, how much you never wanted to go through that again, you never really took the time to believe it yourself.

Because despite how much that had happened between the two of you, despite how much you had hurt each other, you couldn’t imagine him out of your life.

You wanted him there, like a desperate fucking fool.

-

After that night, things changed.

He got drunk more often, stayed in your room more often. You never complained about it though.

He fucked you like he used to. Slow, gentle thrusts, soft talking, made sure you always came first. You would have appreciated it if you knew it was genuine and he wasn’t drunk out of his fucking mind. It was the only way he could do it though. When he was sober, he barely looked at you and somehow that felt worse than him having to get drunk to do it. At least then you could feel something.

He whispered quiet words to you afterwards each time, arms wrapped around your front, begging you not to go, to never leave him, he was so sorry, please just stay.

And you did always stay. At least till he was asleep. Then you had to move and find somewhere else to go.

He was rarely as kind in the mornings.

Weeks pass until he does something sober.

When you were looking over the bright ocean on one of the pink sandy beaches on a lazy sunny evening, you heard gentle trudging behind you, turned to see him walking over. He’s holding a wireless keyboard and a notebook, Cyborg was following close by holding Noodle’s guitar. It doesn’t fit right in her hands, feels almost uncanny seeing it there in her grip, but you don’t say anything. Just kept staring over the ocean, like you didn’t notice them.

“Want you t'play something for me.” He said gruffly, passing you the keyboard at the notebook. You flicked to where he’s marked out and you see scribbled piano chords and lyrics, a harshly written title adorns the top of the page.

'To Binge.’

He nodded over at Cyborg who settles down beside you, looking up at you with glassy, empty eyes, as if she expects something from you.

“She knows how to do it.” He said, settling to sit down behind the two of you. “I’ll count ya in.”

She started plucking at the strings of the unfamiliar guitar, strumming away to a song she clearly knows and she’s practiced, and you followed her on the piano shakily, playing the chords on the paper and she started singing the opening verse. Her voice is soft, gentle, different to Noodle’s. You didn’t hate it as much as you thought you would.

The words have more meaning than she knows, and when you looked at Murdoc, he’s cryptic, just listening to the two of you play together.

Cyborg looked up at you and nodded. Your verse next.

**_I’ll wait to be forgiven_ **

**_Maybe I never will_ **

**_My star has left me_ **

**_To take the bitter pill_ **

When you’re singing your verse, you almost laughed at how obviously it was about you. But it’s beautiful, hearing it along with music, along with the chords and the piano keys. You liked knowing these feelings about him that he would never tell you, and just hearing them being said already helps you rethink him a little more.

When Cyborg sings her second verse, you look over at him, hoping that maybe he’ll be looking back at you, like he’s proud or something, but no. He stays still, looking over the ocean, just listening.

**_I’m caught again in the mystery_ **

**_You’re by my side, but are you still with me?_ **

**_The answer’s somewhere deep in it, I’m sorry but your feeling it_ **

**_But I just have to tell you that I love you so much these days_ **

**_Have to tell you that I love you so much these days, it’s true_ **

You sing the chorus together, her harmonising where she should (because she knew and you didn’t), and you didn’t like admitting how good you actually sounded together. Her voice was nice, though you didn’t know who it belonged to, or if it was really Noodle’s voice you were hearing.

_**My heart is in economy** _

_**Due to this autonomy** _

_**Rolling in and caught again** _

_**Caught again** _

When she plays her final note and you play the final key, you both looked at Murdoc, as if waiting for approval. He didn’t say anything, just stood up and left you to it, left you alone with Cyborg.

“He like this a lot?” You asked her as soon as he has walked off, and she nodded mechanically. Made you smile a little. “How long did this take him to write?” She shrugged wordlessly and got to her feet, holding onto the guitar that didn’t belong to her and moving to follow after her master obediently.

And so you were alone, on the beach again, with a keyboard and a notebook full of heart sick love songs that would speak more volumes about Murdoc than anyone would ever know. And you guess that why he did it through song. So he could be cryptic and never actually have to admit to anything.

Just like him to do it like that.

Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for the sadism prompt because i'm a sadist and i want all your tears mmmm  
> holy shit this chapter is so long. i've been trying to write this for months dude. this is like the end result of all the kinktober fics. this is the end game this is what everything leads up to. have a good time.
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


	32. Senseless Mindless Indulgence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinktober day 31: author's choice  
> third person, shifted perspective, mentions of medical negligence

Playing with him was always their favourite game.

They barely agreed on anything, but whenever he was involved, everything always seemed to work out in a perfect balance for all of them.  

Even if they still bickered, and found every opportunity they could to one up each other, claim him as theirs. Who could make him cum first, who could leave him with marks that would last days after their play, and then just watch him to see what would last the longest, who could claim him for the longest.

It was funny though, how they were never this possessive around him when the other wasn’t involved. When it was just one of them with him, nothing of the sort happened. It was just when they thought there was a competition there, an argument to be won, a fight to be victorious over.

So naturally, Stuart was the perfect thing for them to fight for.

-

The premise of tonight’s play was. Interesting to say the least though.

Had Stuart been well versed in any other horror genre other than specifically low-budget zombie films from the 80’s, maybe he might have thought it was suspicious when he got a text from Murdoc AND Paula saying to meet them in the basement under the studio, with the exact same writing syntax and perfect punctuation despite their previous texts showing no traits of those writing styles before. And maybe he had thought it was odd, yeah, but nothing worth thinking about.

Nothing that would have put him off of the idea of having sex with them either.

Barely any information had been provided to him, but that made him even more interested in what might be done, peaked his curiosities a bit more.

Having spent the entire day in the upper floors of the studio, writing and practicing his shit attempts of piano melodies, Stuart took the long winding staircase down to the basement (lift was broken, as was to be expected in the run down studio,) sound feeling so much more far away as he walked, and the feeling of loneliness and isolation automatically setting in despite knowing where he was walking to. A subconscious feeling of dread, maybe, telling him that it wasn’t worth it and he shouldn’t bother. That he was being lied to for a cheap joke. Animalistic fear that cropped up whenever he was too wound up to suppress any kind of feeling.

But he was just being silly, he thought, he was meeting Murdoc and Paula in the basement after all, they must have been there for a while. Nothing to be worried about. Even if the stairwell was creepier than the lift. Least that was well lit.

When he reached the large, warehouse like doors of the main basement, a massive space where trailing corridors and other rooms led off from, he was met by low, flickering floor lights, bulbs needed replacing. Like the kinds he saw in photoshoots, illuminated a single scene in the middle of the room, nothing but darkness surrounding it, almost invisible. When he slowly approached the made up scene, he recognized a few things.

Firstly was a medical examination bench, the feature most illuminated by the lamps, dark silver with black plastic cushions on top, a slight incline on one end. Brown belts still swinging off of it threateningly. Metal stirrups were folded underneath one end of it, waiting to be folded up for whatever reason. To the side of the bench, near the incline was a silver wheeled cart, though the top and bottom trays were covered with a black sheet, obscuring whatever they might have held from view. A heavy duffel bag sat behind the bench, though Stuart didn’t think to go through it and quench any of the curiosities that he might have had surrounding the scene.

No, instead of doing anything smart or reasonable like that, he just sat on the bench, like he was a kid, a scrappy teenager, a still developing young man, waiting in a doctor’s office again.

This scene was nowhere near unfamiliar to him, though admittedly not in the context that was going to play out this evening. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’d sat on the same kind of doctor’s bench, waiting for someone to tell him what was wrong with him and what pills to take, come back next week if problems arise, etcetera. If anything, that rough past just made this roleplay idea seem funnier.

If there was anything that he was going to find the least bit sexy, it was a trip to the doctor’s.

Then again, he had been wrong before.

Stuart was sat on that bench for maybe two minutes, might have been longer, before he started to get bored. Tapped away at his phone, though changing his ringtone and scanning through his already read messages could only take up so much of his time before he ran out of things to do. Looked around the barely lit space a little longer, legs kicking under the bench.

“Oi, you two!” He finally shouted, voice echoing as it bounced off the walls of the basement. “I dunno what you’re plannin’ but I’ve been here for like five minutes already!” Shoving his phone back into his jean pocket. “Got other shit t'do!” Almost trying to sound threatening, or like there was some kind of meaning behind his words. “So.” Though he could never maintain that kind of facade. “You know. Don’t wanna wait around much longer!”

Still silence. They were leaving him guessing. Because of course they were, they always did that. Though that was assuming that they could even hear his demands anyway.

Stuart let out an annoyed huff at the very thought that he was being ignored though, kept looking around the scene out of pure boredom. One of the lights was flickering, would need a new bulb soon. The basement of the roof must have been leaking because he could hear a dripping somewhere. Moved up closer to the inclining end of the bench, reaching over to yank the sheet off of the rolling cart.

Numerous medical implements covered the metal trays, some simple, stuff he recognized from the checkups in his past, though some were obviously thinly veiled sex toys that just matched the medical aesthetic. Some sharp ones too though, that made Stuart nervous, thinking about what they could possibly be used for. He touched his fingertips over a sharp, shining scalpel, though his hands trembled a little as he picked it up. Metal cool on his skin. His mind wandered thinking about if it might have been used for, if it would be bloody, gorey maybe. His mouth went dry.

When the basement doors opened with a harsh bang, he dropped it out of shock, with a metallic clatter. Moved to hurry back to the center of the bench, pretending that he hadn’t moved, hadn’t done anything he wasn’t supposed to.

Like a good boy should.

Light streamed into the room through the open door, making their bodies into silhouettes, shadows. Unrecognizable almost, even more intimidating.

As they moved closer and the door shut again, they became more human. Made Stuart a little less nervous, but still somewhat. Like they always did.

The two of them made quite a pair, standing together before him. Stuart had to admit that he was impressed that they’d gotten on long enough to even orchestrate this whole thing, without even considering what they might have planned with him. Just looking at them stand together made him want to find out though.

Paula looked striking as usual, though it was hardly out of character for him to be starstruck just by looking at her, love-sick dope that he was. Decked out in tight red and white latex, shined underneath the unnatural light of the basement, medical and clinical in a way that would have normally unnerved him, but for some reason just turned him on even more. Heavily made up eyes look down on him, red lips already making a stain on the cheap, cotton surgical mask that covered the lower half of her face. Unsettling in a way that he liked, in a way that disturbed him because of how much he liked it. He could hear her heels against the hard concrete floor of the basement and he loved the way she so effortlessly towered above him, since he was already drooling just by looking at her, without her even having to do anything yet. Stuart could only imagine what was going to happen to him when she actually started.

Murdoc certainly looked the part for the play as well, though not nearly as impressively as Paula did, weird considering his penchant for showmanship and her complete disinterest in it (that and his consistent desire to show her up). He’d gone for black over white and red, leather over latex, as was to be expected. Leather was rougher, thicker, harder. Everything that he wanted to be. Shirtless, showing off pectoral scars and barbels through his nipples that he was always so proud of.  Shining, thick silver rings and his signature inverted cross glisten under flickering and humming lights and add something inherently Murdoc to whatever this roleplay deemed necessary. Of course. Heavy boots with heels put him at a height close to Paula’s, a clipboard and a white latex doctor’s coat completed the medical-like illusion and topped the outfit. If his intention was to intimidate Stuart, it was done in seconds, and he knew it from the way he smiled, baring pointed teeth that did nothing to settle Stuart, or turn him off in the slightest.

Tonight would obviously be a night of discoveries for him, it seemed.

It was funny seeing them stand together, like two halves of the same person, yin and yang, despite being much more alike that they would have liked to admit. Stuart would be the first to say that he had a type, and this was evidence enough that the statement was absolutely true.

He gripped at the medical bench as they crossed the basement, casting looming shadows over the concrete. He wasn’t sure what to do, what he had agreed to do. What they might have been planning for him. While they had talked about this kind of thing (albeit in a more joking kind of way, a “wouldn’t-it-be-funny-if-we-did-this” sort of way), if he would like this sort of roleplay to a degree before, he had no idea what kind of part he would have to play, if they were even going to play parts at all. Maybe it was just an aesthetic choice, a shift in sex styles to make things a bit more exciting. They’d done that before, that was the whole reason Murdoc was even part of this. Or if this was going to be clinical and calculated, like being in an actual hospital.

Still, Stuart didn’t know.

And not knowing excited him more.

“Good evening, Mr Pot.” Murdoc was the first one to break the silence, alerting Stuart’s sudden attention. “Sorry t'leave you waitin’ for so long. Dreadful etiquette, I know.” Gave him a sharp toothed smile as if it would make him feel any more at ease. Made his mouth go dry again. “I’m Dr Niccals. And this is my assistant, Nurse Cracker.” Gesturing at Paula with a jerk of his wrist.

Paula dragged her white stained mask down with a hooked finger, giving Stuart a little smirk, before she pulled it off altogether, gloved hands resting on her hips.

“Sooo, what are your symptoms? What are we lookin’ for?”

“Symptoms include headaches, extensive phantom pain as a result of a concussion and a low sex drive.” Paula listed, pacing behind the bench, clearly amused when Stuart flushed bright red at the last one. “That’s what he told me anyway.” Leaning against it.

“Right then, nurse. We’re gonna proceed with a regular routine check-up for Mr Pot here.” Murdoc said professionally, taking the clipboard from under his arm and flicking up a paper clipped onto it. Looking up at him over it. “Then we’ll see if we need to perform anymore examinations.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Paula yanked Stuart’s wrists back hard, kneeling on the bench behind him, keeping one hand pinning them down. He heard a sharp metallic clash and little clicks before he realized that she had handcuffed his wrists together, keeping them behind his back and out of sight.

Least it wasn’t the belts yet though.

That would have been hitting the deep end too quickly.

“Then we’ll try and get a diagnosis sorted for ya. That alright?”

“Yeah.” Stuart mumbled softly, pulling at the cuffs. “Sounds fine.”

Murdoc harped on about vital signs and such, and Paula hurried to match his pace of talking, grabbing implements from the tray to measure all the things that he listed, barely paying attention to the actual numbers since they didn’t actually matter. Nothing that Stuart could pay attention to. A thermometer was shoved between his lips before he had the chance to consider it or spit it out. Just kept it there the time being

“All regular. Nothing of concern. Very good.” Murdoc said with a well rehearsed smile, like it was meant to calm him down. “Now we got a few questions, but we’ll do some more tests as ya answer them, just for the sake of convenience. That alright?”

Stuart just nodded. Couldn’t speak with the glass still on his tongue.

“Right.” Looking at his board again. “You a smoker, Mr Pot?”

“Yuh.” Spat the thermometer out. “Yeah.”

“Mmhmm. Frequent?”

“Daily since I was a teenager, yeah.”

Murdoc tutted softly, as patronising as ever, pretending to write something on his clipboard while Paula busied herself with pulling his shirt up and over his head, restricting his arms even more and pressing a cold, metal stethoscope against his chest, making him flinch. As if she knew what she was listening for.

“Keep an eye on that, yeah? Very unhealthy habit.” A sarcastic little smile came to Murdoc’s lips as he spoke, making Stuart roll his eyes. “Drinker by any chance?”

“Sometimes.” He murmured.

“How frequent?”

“Er…maybe once every few weeks. When I go a bit wild, ya know. Not often.” Like he was talking to an actual doctor again.

“Can you cough for me?” Paula asked at his side, finally perking up after her extended silence. Stuart did as he was told, and she moved the stethoscope up his chest, over his lungs.

“Eating well?” Murdoc continued, thoughtlessly moving closer though he was still writing.

“W-When I can.” He mumbled softly, cheeks burning as Paula ran her hands down his sides, stethoscope now hanging around her neck.

“These skinny ribs would say otherwise.” She drawled playfully, stroking over the slightly protruding bone that Stuart was still a bit self concious about. “You need fattening up a bit, I think.” Prodding at his barely there tummy, making him shudder.

“Let’s not get too personal, nurse. Not our business after all.” Murdoc said with a smirk, taking a flat wooden stick from his pocket. “Stick your tongue out for me, Mr Pot. Say ‘ah’.”

Stuart did as he was told (again, because that’s what he did) and he pressed the stick against his tongue, forcing it to be kept out. Barely seconds in and he was already starting to salivate excessively and he pulled against Paula’s grip on his cuffs, trying to move away from the rough grip and conserve a bit of dignity.

“Sexual history?” Murdoc finally asked with a knowing smirk, ignoring the way Stuart glared at him. “Any particular stories ya might want to share with Nurse and I? Late night rendezvous, encounters, what have you.”

“Fug awf, yuh tosher.”

“What was that?” He said, tone low and intimidating, pressing down on his tongue a little harder, forcing him to drool down his chin a little more. “Ya gettin’ fucked every night, eh? Sometimes twice a night if ya ask for it enough. If your owner’s are kind enough t’give it to ya.” Baring his teeth with a sharp grin, letting out an almost surprised chuckle. “My my, what a naughty boy you are, eh?~”

Paula giggled behind him, stroking over his burning cheek and over his tongue, coating the fingers of her glove with his saliva.

“‘Spose that means we’re keepin’ him healthy just for him to be kept as a sex toy, doctor. Barely a person anyway.” She cooed quietly, pressing her body against Stuart’s back, latex against bare skin, her words alone making him blush. He could just hear the grin in her voice without needing to even look at her. “I’m sure his owner’s wouldn’t mind if we tried him out, hm? Just to make sure he’s in the best condition he can be for them.”

“An excellent suggestion, nurse.” Murdoc agreed and put the stick back into his jacket pocket, making some final notes on his clipboard. “Well, firstly I prescribe a dosage of bremelanotide, to be administered in the clinic. How’s that sound t'you?”

“Sounds perfect t'me, doc.” She said, wrapping her arms around his neck affectionately.

“Then…perhaps a more physical exam?” He added, tapping his chin with the end of his pen, in deep thought. “Just t'make sure everythin’ is workin’ as it should be. Vaginal, anal, full monty.”

“Mm, sounds fine to me.” She mused, gloved fingers idly stroking through Stuart’s hair, smiling when he keened closer to her. “Though I thought we could do a few examinations before the dosage. So the drugs don’t hit him so hard, ya know.” Running her hands down his sides , smiling at the way he squirmed helplessly in her arms. “Warm him up a bit.”

Despite the touching scene before him, Murdoc threw her an accusatory glance over his clipboard, lowering it so his glare would be recognized properly. “Pardon me, nurse, but isn’t the point of the dose to not have to warm him up, so to speak? Why should we do anything like that? Why should we waste a dosage of bloody bremelanotide just to have foreplay with it, hm? Seems a bit pointless to me, honestly. Negates the purpose of the drug.” Voice raised ever so slightly.

“Alright, calm down.” Paula said, raising her voice without him, getting off of the bench to square up to him, her height easily matching his, though he clearly wasn’t intimidated. “Just wanted this to be a bit less harsh, yeah? Maybe a bit romantic.” Dropping her previously established character to argue. Of course.

“I’m not a romantic, nurse, I’m a sadist.” He said sternly with a rough smirk. “And, shockingly, I’m also the doctor here, so what I say goes.” Another step closer to her, tipping her chin up with a soft touch that Stuart knew she hated, especially when it was from Murdoc of all people. She hated anything soft. “Understand me?”

He knew she hated it without having to even see her face, when her body went stiff and rigid, and she quickly shoved it back, hard, her strength matching his with ease. He frowned, but didn’t push the issue any further. Never did when she reacted like that.

They’d find a way to compromise though, they always did.

“Er. Either of you gonna actually tell me what bremelanotide is exactly?”

The two of them were alerted from their argument and petty bickering when Stuart suddenly piped up again, still sat on the medical bench where he was before, just looking between the two of them with wide eyes, trying to find some kind of answer.

“Ah. Right. Of course.” Murdoc mumbled to himself, approaching the bench again and moving behind it, where Stuart couldn’t follow as easily. “It’s nothin’ to concern yourself about, my love. Bit of a…” Putting his clipboard down, leaning against his shoulders, making a gesture as if he was trying to find the proper word for what he was thinking. “Virility enhancer, if you will.” Smiling when he found the word. “Just something to get you a bit more excited for us, if you understand me.” He finished.

Stuart nodded slowly, trying to understand what he was saying, before he shook his head again. “Nah, I don’t understand that at all actually.”

“Very professional, doc.” Paula said with a sly smile, leaning against the front of the bench. “It’s an aphrodisiac, darlin’. Get ya horny without us having to do one thing about it.” A casual hand resting on his thigh. “Know how much ya love that.”

Now Stuart would never admit this to anyone’s face, because he wasn’t stupid and he knew how much of a target he would paint on himself by saying something like this to them. But just thinking the idea of that subtle lack of control, that lack of any kind of reign on his arousal without them even having to touch him, do anything to him, made his clit throb under his jeans, and his face feel hot. He could only have imagined what sort of state he must have looked like in front of them.

So he didn’t say no. Never did. Never wanted to.

“Oh.” He started, suddenly feeling the cuffs feel slack around his wrists when he didn’t pull so much. “Right. Okay.” Trying to keep a cool facade, smiling (albeit shakily, a bit more forced than he wanted it to be.) “Sounds, er. Nice. I suppose.”

“We can warm ya up first though, if you want.” Murdoc said softly, kneeling on the bench and moving in closer to Stuart, wrapping his arms around his waist and stroking up his thighs, hands edging closer to the zip of his jeans, so slow that it made him shiver. “Make it feel a bit nicer, yeah? Not too much all at once. Know ya like it like that.” Nipping at his ear, giving it a gentle, teasing tug, relishing in the soft sounds he made.

“Stealing my ideas, hm?” Paula muttered, glaring at him over Stuart’s shoulder. “Like you know shit about any of this. Anything he likes without you gettin’ shit from it too.”

Murdoc just chuckled, lapping down his jaw with a long, trailing tongue, making him shiver and whine some more.

“Well, we need to treat our patients nicely, don’t we, nurse?” He purred, unbuttoning his jeans, tugging them down his thighs to expose his bare crotch. Legs practically crossed. “And we’re partners, yeah?” Smiling up at Paula slyly. “What’s mine is your’s. Mi casa et tsu casa.”

“More like the other way round right now, mate.” She bit back roughly before she moved away from the two of them, ducking down behind the bench to unzip the duffel bag, find something that wasn’t already out.

“Don’t mind my nurse, darlin’. In a bit of a mood with me, it seems.” Murdoc spoke casually as he kept tracing down Stuart’s pubic bone, over his thighs, feeling a damp that was already making his thighs slick. Making him squeak, bite at his lip. Smirked to himself. “That time of the month, maybe.”

“Ya shouldn’t say that, Murdoc.” Stuart mumbled softly, tugging at his cuffs, shivering against his body despite how hard he was pinned down. “’S rude. N-Not nice.” Between his gasps and whimpers as Murdoc stroked over his labia, parting him, very close to pressing a finger inside when he could have so easily.

“Aw, ain’t that polite.“ Murdoc crooned, stroking at every sensitive spot inside of his trembling singer. "Such a sweet boy, isn’t he, nurse? Bet his owners trained him perfectly.”

“Mm, yeah.” Paula muttered to herself, bored, standing to her feet again, fiddling with what she had found in the duffel bag. “Think I like it more when y'not makin’ conversation, though. I like my patients much quieter.”

Before either of the men could comprehend what she was doing first, Paula forced a thick ball gag between Stuart’s parted lips, buckling the thick belt and silver buckle tight around his head before he could do or say anything about it. Already digging his teeth in, yanking at his cuffs, trying to get out any kind of protest around the gag.

“Shit, and I call myself a sadist.” Murdoc said, with a raised eyebrow. “Cuttin’ a lad off halfway into his conversation. Have to say, nurse, quite cold.” He sounded somewhat impressed by Paula’s overt cruelty to who was essentially her partner. Not that it surprised him though, she was always like that. Soft one second, conniving little bitch the next.

“Ah ah, that’s not it, doctor.” She said with a plotting smirk, a rough little chuckle slipping from her lips as she reached back to the bench and held up a glinting silver chain, two heavy clips on either side, letting them swing gently in her hand, in front of Stuart’s empty sockets.

“Oof, that’s a bit harsh, ain’t it.” Murdoc hissed, hands receding from his patient’s body, moving to stand up from the bench and move his clipboard.

“Depends who you ask. Some people like the pain.” Smiling to herself. “We might have a masochist on our hands and I’d like to know.”

“Suit yourself.” Murdoc said from the side.

"Now, this may hurt a little.” She said, looking down at Stuart, a sweet smile on her painted red lips. Loosened the screws of the sharp, alligator toothed clamps and moved to stroke down his chest, positioning the open clasp around his nipple. “But just for a second, okay?”

As she tightened them, without any kind of answer from Stuart first, naturally, his eyes immediately squeezed shut, groaning loudly and pulling hard at bonds as the teeth dug into him. Paula just smiled and moved onto tightening the next clamp, relishing in his groans that turned into soft, pained whimpers of pleasure as she kept going, tightening the clamps with delicate fingers and surgical precision.

When the clamps were as tight as they could be without breaking the skin, she gave the thin chain connecting them a teasing little tug, pulling and stimulating both of his nipples with one small gesture. Stuart threw his head back with a muffled scream, pinpricks of tears beading in his eyes, shaking ever so gently, though quickly calmed down as soon as she dropped the chain again.

“There.” She cooed with a cruel smirk, tracing a finger down her patient’s chin, quietly admiring the silver strings of drool that fell from his lips as he tried desperately to speak. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it, Mr Pot?”

Despite his pained huffs and how much he was still trembling, Stuart nodded his head, a shy smile barely visible against his gag, but it was enough to please Paula. She stroked through his hair affectionately, cradling his chin and pressing her lips against his gag in a sweet kiss, liking it even more when he leaned close to her for more of her attention. Always so desperate for it.

“Now now, nurse.” Though the two of them were rarely allowed to enjoy any kind of moment of intimacy together these days. Murdoc made sure of that. “I really don’t think formin’ bonds like this with patients is very professional, do you?”   
Paula glared with a frown over at him for interrupting, moving to playfully hop off the bench, much to Stuart’s dismay who was enjoying the attention.

“And fuckin’ your nurses is professional, doc?” She asked with a waiting look, a smug little smile, crossing her arms.

“Hardly.” He replied, taking a pair of black, latex gloves from his coat pocket and pulling them on with a harsh snap as he started to walk behind the bench again. Back to his clinical character and his previous position. “But I’m not goin’ to claim to be a professional in anyway.” As he spoke, he grabbed the chain from Stuart’s handcuffs and pulled his arms back, hard enough to alert him and make his body lurch. “Unlike you.”

“I’m not trying to be professional either, actually.” She’s moving as well, kneeling back on the bench and holding Stuart’s shoulder firmly to stop him pulling away from what Murdoc was doing. “I’m just trying to make our patient comfortable. And not scare the shit out of him.” Nodding over at the plate of medical implements at the side of the bench that he had uncovered before, that were shining in the hanging lights, made Stuart even more nervous when she held up something particularly sharp and gestured wildly with it. “What are these for anyway? Hardly think you’re gonna be usin’ any of those for a routine check up, right, doc?”

“Details, nurse, details.”

Stuart was alerted from their bickering, however by a harsh click, and when he looked over his shoulder, he saw one of the hanging leather belts buckled tightly, pinning the chain of his handcuffs down to the bench. When he tugged at it, there was no sign of any give, so there was no chance of moving away from it. Murdoc grinned harshly when he glanced back at him, knelt on the bench behind him, opposite Paula, so he was stuck between them.

A rock and a hard place.

Not like he minded, of course, if anything this was sort of an ideal situation for him, but being unable to move was unsettling. Barely being able to reciprocate any of their actions was slightly more so.

“So.” Murdoc started, one hand rested on his shoulder, the other tracing down his front, avoiding the hanging chain from the clamps. “Has my nurse gotten you warmed up enough, darlin’? Or do I need to do her job for her, hm?” The snide tone to his voice was obviously directed at Paula, made the atmosphere a little more tense between his two assailants.

“You barely gave me any time, prick.” Paula muttered with a sneer, butting in before Stuart had the chance to say anything (though the gag would have prevented words anyway, so it didn’t really matter.) “And if you hadn’t interrupted, I could have done a lot more.” There’s a new edge to her voice, more seductive and almost dangerous as she stroked gloved fingers up Stuart’s thigh, inching closer to his crotch, where his neglected clit was erect and his cunt was dripping wet, just from their prepping and Murdoc’s barely there touches.

Stuart trembled, ever so slightly, underneath her touch, moaning against his gag, trying to encourage her to keep touching because he was already so desperate for it. Huffed little breaths being the only sound he could coherently make.

“Shame.” He said, head now resting on the hand on Stuart’s shoulder, still touching his chest, edging closer up to the delicate chain. “I’m sure our patient would have preferred me doing it. Always have to trust the doctor more than the nurse, don’t you?” The question was aimed at Stuart then, and he let out a slurred answer, a groan if anything, in response. Made Murdoc laugh and stroke over the chain threateningly, so close to pulling. “But I’m sure he’s just takin’ what he can get, hm? Not like he has much choice in the matter.”

“You talk big for someone who likes a girl’s dick up his arse.” Paula bit back with a harsh smirk, running a torturously slow touch over Stuart’s labia, relishing in the way he was still squirming, whimpering, pulling at his cuffs, at the clamp that pinned them down, wishing that he could move just a little more.

“You say that like it’s shameful.” Murdoc almost sounded smug as he spoke, though Stuart was a bit more interested at the way he gripped the chain, pulling at it gently at first, nothing more than a little jolt of pain shifting through his body. But he was sure that the more the two argued the more intense the pain, and the pleasure counteracted by Paula’s touches, would get. The idea of it was almost exciting. “Have some issues to work out, it seems, don’t we, nurse?”

“Not everyone can be as proud as you, doc.” She spat, enunciating clearly on the last word, hard. “Oh, but I have someone who does help me along with that, don’t I, Stu?” Without explaining herself first to the two men who watched her idly, she smirked and reached up to unzip her uniform, exposing her breasts, nipples already perky from the cold of the basement (or alternatively just the excitement of the play). She groped herself playfully as she leant up so they were almost pushed into Stuart’s face (though she was looking at Murdoc, like she was gloating, showing off. A frequent dynamic between the three of them.)

“See? You like me much better, don’t you, sweetheart?” She drawled on the word 'much’ childishly, pushing her fingers through his hair and holding his face against her cleavage. Stuart could do nothing but moan with agreement, leaning into her and falling for everything she was saying.  

Murdoc looked at her with a bored glare, as if this was the most uninteresting thing he’d seen in his life, and gave the delicate clamp chain on Stuart’s chest a good hard yank, sending the younger man into a pain that made his body arch and forced his head to be thrown back, away from Paula’s body. Even worse when Murdoc pushed his fingers through his hair, pulling his body back even more so he could lick down his neck, bite down hard with pointed teeth and leave a bloody love bite that would mark him as his for longer than anything she could do. Still tugging at the nipple clamps that stuck fast and just made the already sensitive nubs puffy and sore.

He just smirked as Stuart whimpered and shook with pain, excruciating pain that bordered pleasure, as pain always did with him. Squirming from it, moaning as he lapped at the bleeding bite mark slowly, making the wound throb even more. Still kept the chain taught though. Looking up at Paula as if to say “so there” to her, because he could always get Stuart going much quicker than she could.

Admittedly that was for a good reason. It separated them in Stuart’s already messed up mind.

Their approaches to foreplay, to sex, were very different. She was soft (most of the time) and he was hard (all of the time). She was kisses and extended foreplay, so long that it was almost torture, he was rough sex in the middle of the night, lovebites that lasted too long, fast, hard, so no-one would catch them. She was lace underneath clothes, private, just for them to know about. He was leather in the open air, where everyone could see because he had no shame and he never would have any. She didn’t start with pain, seeing it more as something to build up to, so it would last longer. He wanted everything to be as intense as possible, as many things to happen as quickly as they could, and the length of time was barely something considered.

It was funny how those things seemed to be perfectly balanced out whenever they were together though. Like a match made in heaven. Or hell. Whatever satanists believed in.

There was a moment between the two of them, just a second of eye contact, silence apart from Stuart’s soft whimpers and the clashing of metal on metal as he squirmed. Harsh glares between them, like two foxes descending on the same rabbit, almost like they were challenging each other to make the first move, waiting to see who would cave first.

Paula was the one to move away, getting off the bench again and zipping up her uniform, throwing an irritated frown at Murdoc who was just smirking at her, over Stuart’s shoulder, clearly as pleased as ever. Finally let go of the taut chain, thankfully, though his chest was still throbbing with pain, nipples now tender and sore, painfully red.

“So.” Paula started, crossing her arms, leaning against the bench. “What do you want me t'do then, Doc?” She spoke with a similar bored tone that he often did towards her, almost playing her part all too well. “Since you’re so smart. Must have plenty of ideas in your head, eh.”

“Mm, I might do.” Murdoc said smugly, practically draping himself over Stuart as a means of showing off and just pushing her irritability further. “Why don’t you run along and get me Mr Pot’s file while I finish warming up our patient, hm?” As he spoke, he busied his idle hands by edging his touch up Stuart’s thighs, parting them gently and stroking over his exposed labia again. “I’m sure he’d be more comfortable in the hands of someone more…professional, wouldn’t you agree?” Accentuating his point by running his thumb over Stuart’s erect clit, making him flinch and tug at his cuffs again, bucking his hips up for more of that attention. “I know he does.”

Paula rolled her eyes at the display in front of her, but attempted a sardonic smile when both of their attention was on her again, just to try and live up to her role as much as Murdoc was. Though she wasn’t nearly as much of a show off as he was.

“And where might that file be, doctor?” She said sweetly (or as sweetly as she could manage.) “I must have forgotten, silly me.”

“Might be in my van.” He said, in a turn of his clinical character before, made Paula’s expression drop a little at the word choice. “His recommended dosage will be with the file as well, mind, so I’m sure you won’t have a problem finding it, right, nurse?”

But she just forced the smile back onto her face, despite how much she was glaring, knowing that he just wanted Stuart to himself, greedy bastard that he was.

“Right, doctor.” She bit back, just as harsh as he did, before she left the space. Heavy heels against the cement slowly getting quieter before the heavy slam of the warehouse basement door indicated that she was actually going to Murdoc’s van to get whatever mystery file and drug dosage they were talking about. Leaving Stuart in the dark, as always. That was always their favourite trick to play on him, after all.

“Well.” Murdoc started, moving off the bench and pacing around until he was facing Stuart, standing over him. “Least we have a bit of time for ourselves, don’t we, Mr Pot?” A lecharous little smirk came to his face and Stuart recognized the mischievous glint in his eyes that meant he was planning something. Unnerving, yes, particularly when he always seemed to have that look whenever he caught him staring, but it always managed to get him hot under the collar, just imagining what Murdoc might have been thinking about him, what fantasies he might have wanted to play out, what was going on in his brain. The change of situation changed nothing about that.

Stuart mumbled against his gag, wishing that he could have said something, still tugging at his cuffs. Murdoc just chuckled, but leant forward for him, stroking his knuckles down his cheek affectionately.

“Have to admit, I like hearin’ ya more. You always sound prettier when I can hear ya voice, beggin’ for it, beggin’ for me.” Tracing over the ball between his teeth, momentarily breaking character. “But it’s nice hearin’ ya sound like this. All stupid like. Might be somethin’ I could warm up to.”

Murdoc had always considered one of his better qualities being how adaptable he was. Yeah, he was stubborn and head strong and when he had his mind on something, there was little to convince him other wise, but he could take other people’s suggestions, try out kinks and fetishes to see if anything stuck. Most of the time they didn’t, that was true, but this was nice.

Stuart still sounded lovely, even if his words were blocked out with thick rubber, his begging reduced down to rough grunts and whimpers, every sound he made was still music to his ears. He liked how the gag looked between his pouty lips as well, how he could see a visible ache in his jaw, how his front teeth were just slightly visible against it, how the strings of drool that dripped down his chin looked almost silver in the light. There were very few things that could make his boy prettier, admittedly, but this might have been something that helped.

Just looking at him, bound and gagged, as helpless as he was going to be but still with such a desperate look on his face that just craved attention was getting Murdoc off, almost alarmingly quickly. He wasn’t a bondage nut by any means, since it was always Paula and Stuart’s kink of choice, though they were doing a good job at convincing him that it might be worth his time, but results didn’t lie. Now, in his experience, leather left little to the imagination in terms of whether or not the wearer of it had a raging fucking hard on or not, and while it added to his professionalism in the roleplay that his lack of parts gave nothing away, he made it obvious when he hung on Stuart like a fucking lifeline, and touched himself through his trousers, trying to give some kind of attention to his neglected clit. So really, the point was moot.

“Fuck, I was supposed t'do somethin’ right now but I just wanna look at ya.” He crooned, pressing a hand through Stuart’s hair and gently urging his head up. “Sweet satan, you’re so pretty. My pretty boy, all fuckin’ mine, yeah? No-one else’s, just mine. Whatever anyone says. Yeah. All mine.”

Stuart moaned softly, nodding his head, keening desperately up against Murdoc’s touch, taking in all the attention and loving every second of it.

When they made eye contact, everything that was keeping Murdoc ground into the scene was gone and he’s unbuckling the ball gag, yanking it out before Stuart can even say anything, and kissing him desperately. Like it’s the one thing they ever wanted to do and the sudden solitude that had been given to them had allowed them an outlet for it. They groaned against each other’s lips, Murdoc pushing Stuart’s body back against the bench and despite the awkward angle his body was now twisted in, nothing deterred Stuart from the intense kiss. Teeth clashing and biting at each other’s lips, tongues pressed together, down throats. Their names groaned against each other’s lips. Every kind of aggression channeled into pure lust and longing for each other.

Murdoc eventually pulled away, breathing hot and heavy. Sat up, fixing his collar, a hand through his hair, like he was trying to make himself presentable again. Stuart adjusted himself, trying to make his position easier to put up with, resting on his side, a red flush spreading down his neck and to the tips of his ears. Grinning like a dope though, happy as anyone could be.

“That was, ah.” Murdoc started, trying to get back into character again. “Very unprofessional, wasn’t it?”

“Just a bit.” Stuart mumbled with a smile. “Definitely cured me though.”

“Shouldn’t do things like that.” He continued, moving to stand up. “No better than her if I do that, eh?”

“I don’t mind.” Stuart insisted, moving up to lean on his elbow despite how uncomfortable his cuffs made it. “Honestly.”

“That mean you’ve had sex with your doctors before?” He replied with a teasing smirk, chuckling when Stuart’s cheeks flushed somehow darker than they were before. “I won’t ask. Patient confidentiality, all that shite.” Mumbling before he knelt down at the end of the bench.

“I haven’t done that before.” Sat up again after the throbbing in his wrists became too much. “J-Just so ya don’t think I’d do shit like that.” Trying to live up to the character that Murdoc and Paula had assigned for him. Though his dialogue felt a bit forced, and when Murdoc chuckled, he felt self conscious about it and sort of wished the gag was still there just so he didn’t have to talk.

“Well, of course not.” Murdoc smirked, folding up the previously forgotten stirrups, watching as 2D’s eyes widened as he stared. “Never had a doctor look like me before, have ya?”

Paula was walking back into the warehouse before they had the chance to banter anymore in a skewed attempt of a clinical roleplay. Looking annoyed that she had to even do any work in the first place.

“You find his file alright?” Murdoc asked cheerfully, tightening the bolts that held the stirrups in place, so they wouldn’t fold down again.

“It was under a pile of spunk stained underwear and his dosage was in your manky fridge, but yeah. I did.” She frowned at him and thrust the envelope into his hands as soon as he was stood up again.

“Not gonna prepare the needle for me, nurse?” He asked her with a raised eyebrow, fingering the opening of the envelope to find the tiny veil of liquid underneath the papers.

“No, I thought I’d spend some actual time with my patient.” Glaring at him, as if she knew what they had been up to before. “Get the doctor to do a bit of work for once, hm?”

“You can prep him, if you want.” As unimpressed as ever.

“Sounds fine to me.”

Murdoc moved back over to the wheeled cart, setting down his file and searching for something, while Paula moved closer to Stuart, unbuckled the belt that was binding his handcuffs to the bench.

“I see he took your gag out, Mr Pot.” She mused thoughtfully, stroking over the handcuffs as well before fiddling with the chain. “Any particular reason for that at all?”

A simple question, could be answered without any intervention, but when he looked up, the glare Murdoc gave him to hold his tongue and keep quiet. Just shrugged his shoulders.

“I see.” Unlocking the handcuffs and throwing the aside. Let Stuart rub at the harsh red indents that had already imprinted his skin. “Can you lie back on the bench for me, Mr Pot? Just part of our further examination.”

Stuart did as he was told, though didn’t expect for Paula to practically jump onto the bench and straddle his chest. Her already short dress riding further up her thighs, red latex panties poking out from underneath them. Made his mouth go dry, just looking at her crotch so close to his face. Disrupted his train of thought.

Paula knew that, of course, she’d known him long enough, and his distraction just aided in being able to reach down for the belts still hanging from the bench and strap him down without him realizing it for a few seconds. First set pinning his shoulders down, second set around his biceps, third around his wrists, though she had to move to do those. Stuart wasn’t a fan of these kind of bindings, she knew that too after his extensive time at hospitals and whacked out psychiatrists who insisted that this was safe and for his own good, but she could make it enjoyable for him. She would. That was her job, after all.

“Hey, doc, could you do his ankle bindings while you’re up, please?” She asked sweetly, looking over at Murdoc. He had finished preparing the syringe with his dosage, just looking at it to see if he had done everything the way he should have before she spoke. Grimaced at her request.

“Why can’t you do it?” He asked.

“Well, you’re up, aren’t you?”

“Point being?”

“You’re closer to it.” Smiling over at him. “And I said please.”

Not seeing the point in arguing any further, Murdoc just rolled his eyes and put the needle down on the cart again as Paula got up, grinning to herself. He moved in to grab Stuart’s ankles and press them into the cuffs of the stirrups, securing them down with more belts in case he was going to try and pull away from them in anyway. Which he did, almost as soon as Murdoc’s hand was around his ankle in the first place, though the little warning glare that he got convinced him to stop. The situation was intimidating enough as it was, he didn’t need someone being angry at him to make it any worse. When Murdoc was finished, he sat back down on the bench and emptied a plastic bag that the dosage of bremelanotide came in, though just fished out the stip of elastic and the plastic clamp that went with it among the papers and warning labels.

The size of the needle was intimidating, though Stuart figured it wasn’t much other than an intimidation tactic. Still, when Murdoc tightened the elastic around his bicep, made his veins throb, and Paula approached him with the needle in hand, he couldn’t help but be nervous just looking at it.

“It’s just a starter dose for now.” Murdoc pressed, clipping the elastic in place and rubbing at his shoulders reassuringly. “We can always up it if we need to. We’ll see how it goes, yeah?”

“Of course.” Paula agreed with a teasing smile, jumping up on the bench and straddling his hips. As she edged closer to him, Stuart found himself pulling at the belts, like he was trying to move away from the two of them, nerves suddenly chewing at his brain, just by looking at the sharp point of the needle, funny, since something like that had never bothered him before.

Paula stopped for a second, recognizing his nervous body language before Murdoc did. She didn’t say anything though, simply smiled and held the needle out for him to take.

“You do it.” She said. “He needs a distraction when he’s nervous like this.”

Murdoc raised an eyebrow at her sudden kindness that had gone amiss in their previous warm ups, but said nothing of it.

“I’m okay.” Stuart mumbled, looking back at her. “R-Really, I’m fine. Just beginners nerves, that’s it.” His stuttering wasn’t doing anything to convince her though. “Don’t need distractin’.”

“Whatever you say, Mr Pot.” She just smiled and moved to his side, kneeling up again, gloved fingers tracing down his front. Edging closer to his crotch, where his cunt was easily accessible, thanks to the stirrups. He swallowed hard just watching her fingers get closer to it, clit standing to attention and the throbbing already becoming too much to bare. At this point, the aphrodisiac was pointless, he was so wound up already, but it aided in the play.

“She is my nurse, y'know.” Murdoc crooned, suddenly alerting his attention. Resting back against the incline of the bench, an arm draped around the back, needle in the other hand, just waiting for the right time. “She’s here to assist me in whatever will make my patient comfortable.” Chuckling through his nose, edging closer so Stuart could feel his breath on his neck. “You understand that, right?”

As Murdoc spoke, Paula traced a slow finger around Stuart’s entrance, just feeling how wet he was already, cruelly ignoring his clit. Smiling at his whimpers. When she pressed a single finger into him, quickly, in and out, the sound makes it that much more obvious, without even taking his howls of desperation into consideration. Frantically bucking his hips for more because this was the first he had been touched for at least an hour of teasing and he was gagging for it. Pulling at his belts, repeating “please, God, fuck, can’t” like he was dying.

But when he was between two sadists, there wasn’t a chance of getting any kind of relief that he might have wanted. Not any time soon, at least.

But Paula was sympathetic. Understanding to a degree. So she slipped her fingers, two of them, inside of him again, grinning at the sound of his loose, wet cunt around her and how much his legs trembled. How much he shook.

“How sweet.” She cooed softly, quickening her pace a little. She dipped her head down, blowing on his clit softly and he whined desperately for more. “Look how hard his dick is, doc. Too fuckin’ cute.”

“I can see it from where I am.” Murdoc crooned with a sleazy grin, scratching at Stuart’s scalp in a fond way.

“Think I should suck it?” She asked with a sly smile, ignoring how much he was already begging for it.

“Ohhh, I dunno about that, nurse.” Again, ignoring Stuart entirely. “Has he been good enough for that yet?”

“I think he has.” Accentuating her point by driving her fingers into him deep, curling them to stroke at every one of his more sensitive points. “I think he’s a good boy anyway.”

“I’ll let you decide that yourself then.”

Paula decided to be merciful, for once, moving down to dip her head some more and run her tongue over Stuart’s throbbing clit, pounding her fingers in and out of him at an almost brutal pace as she wrapped her lips around it.

She figured if he came from this attention, they didn’t have to stop. They could keep going and make him cum as many times as they wanted, even if his body was worn out or tired. There wasn’t a chance that he was going to ask them, beg them to stop, no no. If anything, he’d just ask for more of it because he liked it so much. Being a plaything for them, being overstimulated and left at the very edge at the very last minute, being pushed so hard that it drove him crazy. And it wasn’t like he ever tried to deny that being true, either. If anything he almost owned up to it like he was proud of it. Like he really was a sex toy and they really were his owners. That despite everything, there wasn’t anything he wanted more than to serve them for as long as they wanted him to.

In the midst of her train of thought, her mouth around his clit, Murdoc injected him with the dose of bremelanotide, though he was distracted enough that he barely reacted to the sharp pain outside a muttered swear and biting his lip. She watched him withdraw the needle and put it on the cart, just watching as she worked him over.

“Like what you see?” She teased softly, resting her head against Stuart’s hip as she finger fucked him deeper, harder.

“Might do.” He said with bemused smile, sitting up so he could lean a little closer to her. “I’d like it more if you made some room for me though.”

“Wait, what?” Stuart stopped gasping and whining enough to be coherent for a second, but just made his assailants laugh above him.

“Ya didn’t think this was all we were doin’, did ya?” Murdoc moved away from the incline, and closer towards where Paula was sat. Started stroking down his hip, over his pubic bone and teasing his clit with slow strokes as she kept fingering him. Relishing in his twisted facial expressions, his eyes squeezed shut, his clenched fists. “Nah, see, Nurse Cracker and I put our heads together before this and thought 'Hm, what could we possibly do that would test if our dosage was right? What would be a rigorous enough test for our very favourite patient?’”

“Seeing how well he could take us, obviously.” Paula added with a smirk, pressing a third finger inside of him, though he was so loose, he barely reacted.

“Obviously.” Murdoc agreed, pinching lightly at his clit to accentuate his point. “But we couldn’t just do it the normal way, oh no, you’re much too special for us to just take it in turns fucking you, aren’t you, Mr Pot?”

They both paused their touches in time to wait for Stuart’s reaction, both smiling like the sadists they were when he nodded frantically, just to get them to keep going.

“We had to choose something special, just for you.” Paula continued with a smile. “So I suggested-”

“Actually, it was my idea.” Murdoc interrupted, looking back at her.

“Hardly, you haven’t had a creative thought in your life.”

“What, and you have?”

“I mean, I thought all of this up.”

“You also wanted us to be a bloody Cure cover band.”

“What’s wrong with the Cure?”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with the Cure, but we got a two too many brown blokes to really represent the look Robert Smith was going for.”

“What, and the Stones do?”

“I’m not trying to set up a bloody Rolling Stones coverband now, am I?”

If Stuart hadn’t been on the verge of climax and and had actually had a brain about him that could comprehend their argument, he would have rolled his eyes and gotten up to leave them to their bickering, since it wasn’t like this was the first time they’d interrupted something important just to fight, but he wasn’t properly listening and he was strapped down anyway, so ignoring them and focusing on their unrelenting touches became his main priority.

The two were only alerted out of their fight when Stuart’s muscles started to clench hard and his body started to arch. Biting his lip, eyes (or lack thereof) rolling back into his skull, body language screaming that he was close to climax when he could barely make words outside of “close, gonna, fuck.”

And it actually shut both of them up fairly quickly. Shut up their arguing, at the very least.

“Think we should let him cum?” Paula asked, glancing over at Murdoc and just slightly slowing down her consistent pace.

“Maybe. Looks like he’s gonna pass out if we draw it out any longer though.” Murdoc considered, keeping his touches slow as well. “Might be funny t'watch.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Stuart muttered from the other end of the bench, almost fighting against his binds at this point.

“That might have been the bremelanotide though.” Paula kept her voice quiet, leaning over to Murdoc to make the conversation more personal. “Did you check his records to see if he could have it?”

“Fuck, you’re a daft cunt, aren’t ya?” He replied, glaring at her. “'Course I checked his records. Plus it was barely five CC’s. What can that do t'ya?”

“Think we should fuck him then?” She asked, eyebrow raised and her smile slightly quirked. “Stop him waitin’ for it after he’s been so good?”

“Couldn’t agree more, nurse.” Murdoc said with a practically villainous smile down on Stuart’s trembling body, the predatory look back in his eyes.

Both doctor and nurse jumped off of the bench, leaving their patient muttering swear words under his breath about having to keep waiting for it after so much teasing. Some insults thrown into the mix as well.

Murdoc busied himself with going through the duffel bag to find something while Paula started to unbuckle the belts that bound Stuart’s body down to the bench temporarily, cooing soft words about how good he was being, how well he had waited for it, it would all be over soon, down at him. When the belts were gone, she urged his body to sit up, gently, so not to push his delicate body anymore and then sat behind him, keeping his body upright and buckling his arms together behind his back so he was helpless again.

“I’m gonna die.” Stuart mumbled weakly, his head hanging down like he was too tired to hold it up as she tightened the belts. “I’m gonna fuckin’ die and you two fuckin’ killed me.”

“Come on, don’t be dramatic.” She said playfully, rubbing his shoulders once she was done. “You can wait just a bit longer, can’t you?”

“No, I bloody well can’t wait any longer. How much longer ya gonna be, eh?” Raising his head again to look back at her with a spiteful glare.

“Long as we need t'be. We know what’s best for you, after all.” She kept her voice soft, clinical, almost condescending, like the nurses he was used to. Made a shiver go down his spine.“We know exactly what you need.” Stroking over his thighs again, where the damp of his pre-cum was leaking down his skin. Smiled against his neck. “And I think your slutty little hole can take it.”

“Dunno what you’re on about.” He muttered to himself, resting his head back against her shoulder as she stroked, and she just laughed, dropping the subject, wanting him to be as in the dark as possible.

“You almost finished, doc? Dunno if I can wait much longer.” Paula raised her voice slightly, looking back at where Murdoc was kneeling, sticking a hand up the front of her uniform and rubbing at her crotch. “Tuck’s gettin’ more uncomfortable by the second.”

Murdoc didn’t need to answer her before he stood up again, pacing in front of them while he adjusted the belts of a leather strap on harness, worn over his trousers to preserve some kind of modesty that he didn’t have. The dildo lodged in the ring of the harness was smaller than Stuart was used to, and he thought for a second as to whether that would be enough to satisfy him.

“Go on then, get yourself sorted.” He said roughly, looking at Paula as he moved in between the metal stirrups still holding Stuart’s legs apart. Kneeling between him. “I’ll get this one started.”

Stuart didn’t have any words to throw at Murdoc, just staring as he approached him, not even noticing when Paula got off the bench again to prepare herself for whatever they had planned. Murdoc smirked when he found his position, kneeling between Stuart’s spread thighs, the head of the dildo resting on his trembling belly as he tried to hold himself up.

“Here, I’ll help ya with that.” He said softly, hands going down the trembling singer’s body to the small of his back, holding him close to him and keeping his body upright. “Poor lad. Ya look like ya seen a war or something.”

“What are ya gonna do?” Stuart managed to get out through his nervous little tics.

“Only what you’ve wanted us to do this entire time, darlin’.” Kissing down his neck, hands moving down to cup his ass, giving him a cheeky grope that made his body flinch. “Don’t even have t'ask us for it this time either. We know just what ya want.” Giving his harsh love bite from before an affectionate little lick, making Stuart whine even louder in his arms. “Don’t have t'beg or nothin’. Don’t have to say a word.”

Moving his body up some more, Murdoc slowly pressed the head of the didlo inside of him, clinging when his body arched up and he threw his head back with a long, desperate whine. Like he’d been waiting for this for hours and he was finally getting it. Despite how small the dildo was, despite it having not nearly enough girth or length to properly satisfy him, he’d cope with it, he’d fucking enjoy it because it was finally fucking happening.

And he was fine with it.

Until Paula moved in behind him again, hands joining Murdoc’s underneath him, urging his body up and slowly, teasingly, so insubstantial that he should have barely considered it, rubbing the head of her dick against his already filled hole. Just feeling it was enough to make him jump and squirm just a little more.

“Think you can make a bit more room for me, doc?” She said, with an irritated tone. “Finally let my dick out to breath a bit and this is all I get?”

“Fuck off, I’m using the smallest one we’ve got.” Murdoc replied, just as annoyed as she is. “He’s taken bigger than this, he can cope.”

Stuart wanted to interject, mention that the angles probably would have contradicted each other or made the penetration uncomfortable, and he hadn’t done anything like this before, he didn’t. Because he wanted some girth and some length and to be so brutally fucked that he couldn’t walk the next day, so he let it happen, because he wanted it so fucking much.

Paula let out a huff, but holding onto Stuart’s hips, practically digging in her nails to allow for some better leverage, she managed to push herself inside of him, alongside Murdoc’s dildo, and started to lazily thrust in and out of him in time with Murdoc’s own thrusting. Filling his straining hole past what he could usually take, past anything he thought he could take, pushing him so far that he could barely make any sound out of frantic gasps and whimpers, and nothing close to what could have been considered words. His body twitched and shuddered, but barely anything else was there. Just lucky that he had two other people to make him move instead.

“Fuck, that’s so tight.” Paula muttered, pressing her face against Stuart’s shoulder, gripping on one of the belts around his arms for some better sort of leverage. “God, he’s so loose though. So fuckin’ wet.” Moaning as she pushed in deeper. “Feels so good.”

“Looks as good as well.” Murdoc purred softly, feeling almost smug that he could essentially sit back and watch them while adding to the scene itself. Though his cheeks looked darker, and Stuart could tell he was sweating. Perhaps the movements of the strap on were stimulating him as well, despite the trousers being in the way. He wouldn’t have put it past him. Murdoc found a way to get turned on by anything.

Stuart was already close before they had even started, but the sudden pounding attention on his g-spot by not just one, but two people, was getting too much to bare. He could barely speak though, so no chance of any kind of warning for them, but they knew him well enough to know when he was close to climax.

“Slow down.” Murdoc instructed, looking over at Paula with narrowed eyes. “He’s getting close already.”

“Yeah, no shit.” She replied, breathlessly, glaring back at him. “I’m not far off either, mate.”

“We have t'do what’s best for the patient, don’t we, nurse?” A raised eyebrow, a slightly quirked smile added a second meaning to his words.

“Urgh, just lay off it now, Murdoc.” She near shouted, not slowing her pounding into Stuart. “I’m too far gone t'keep goin’ with this, and so are you.”

“Yeah, but I kept it up longer.” He replied, his smile splitting into a harsh grin and a wild cackle. “Fuckin’ knew you’d break eventually, I fuckin’ knew it!”

Paula just growled, reached forward to push a harsh hand through Murdoc’s hair and dragged his head over to her’s in a harsh, bruising kiss. All teeth, no tongue. All violence, no level of passion or romance between the two of them. Never was. But Stuart liked seeing them do it anyway.

When they pulled back from each other, he didn’t know if it was lipstick smeared on their skin or blood, and both seemed like viable options. That intensity between them only encouraged their lust for their singer even more, as their thrusting speeded up, both desperate to make him cum, even if it would have to be a combined effort.

“Come on, sweetheart. Know how much you’ve needed this.” She said, kissing his neck.

“How much you love it.” He said, kissing his chest.

“And we love you, you know.”

“We do. So, so much.”

“Just want you to be happy. Want you to feel good.”

“Do you feel good, my love? Do we make you feel good?”

“So handsome.”

“So pretty.”

“All mine.” They said, in practically unison, and that’s the thing that pushes him over the edge.

He tipped his head back against her shoulder, body arched so dramatically that his chest is pushed against his, and both of their names are on his lips, repeated like a prayer, between almost sobs of pure ecstasy. Cum drips from his thighs as she pulled out of him, mixing with his own, dripping onto the cushions of medical bench. When he pulled out, the head of the dildo broke strings of pre-cum that keep their bodies connected, a connection so rare between them that Murdoc almost lamented it breaking.

While Stuart lay back on the bench, chest heaving, eyes shut, just trying to get readjusted in his own body again, Murdoc stood up to unbuckle his ankles from the stirrups, rubbing feeling back into his trembling legs as soon as he can move them again. Paula urged his body to the side, gently, so she could unbuckle the belts around his arms, and Stuart smiled dumbly at the feeling of his two favourite people being so gentle with him after so much dominance and general discomfort. Moaning when the feeling rushes back to all of the limbs heavy with misuse.

And when he can lie comfortably again, his limbs without any phantom pain and his brain is back in his own head, he felt Paula’s soft touch through his hair, stroking slowly, as Murdoc smoked a cigarette, the white coat having been thrown to the side so he looked more like himself again.

She was always like this after sex. Much more into aftercare. She’s gentle, strokes his hair, kisses his forehead and whispers affectionate words. He’s not one for this kind of thing. Never was and never is. Stuart didn’t mind that as much as he should have.

“That was fun.” He mumbled, mostly to himself, though they both make vague sounds of acknowledgement. “Can’t feel my legs much, but yeah. Fun.”

“Glad ya think so.” Murdoc said, tapping ash from his cigarette away.

“Any chance this is covered by the NHS?” He asked with a tired little giggle, laughing at his own joke, though they never had a sense of humour, at least after sex anyway.

But that was fine.

Stuart didn’t mind that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sparking up a cigarette* hears to five months of my life to writing over 100k worth of explicit gorillaz fanfiction. 
> 
> hope you all had a good time. i had a good time. let's see if i do this again next year, eh? 
> 
> reminder that i do drabbles and mini-fics almost constantly on my tumblr: whipstickagocock.tumblr.com and i'm much easier to message and talk to over there. thanks for sticking around
> 
> ray x


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